Mercenaries Among Merchants
by TheKhajiitWarrior
Summary: The war in the Rift is spreading like wildfire and Mjoll needs to take any chance she can get to escape. A Khajiit merchant heading to Whiterun is her perfect ticket out. It won't be until later she'll find out fully what she signed up for. Mjoll x Female Khajiit and mature in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Mjoll the Lioness**

Riften is covered in smog and smoke from the north when the ships dock in the harbor. News of the Imperial Army's march reached the Rift too late for most of the outlying villages and citizens to successfully make their way to Riften. A small flood of a few hundred people arrived less than two weeks ago, and every day since then it's been dying off steadily until today not a single newcomer has arrived. Every new arrival carries horror stories of Imperial soldiers burning crops, killing cattle, and foraging the forests until they're bare. Which, in turn, has made my daily walk down to the docks more of a competition rather than a lovely stroll.

Women with babes, crippled men, and beggars find my elbows in their sides more oft than not. All able men and women have been shipped out by the lake towards the rivers to attempt to route the Imperials from their western side. Even Aerin was taken in the fight. The only reason I'm still here to push and shove and jab others in their sides is because I was away tracking a bear when the call went out. I'm sure seeing me arrive unharmed has left Maven Black-Briar with a sour taste in her mouth and, given her influence on politics, I've decided it's better to make my way out of the city as soon as possible before someone notices I'm back and decides Mjoll the Lioness would be a useful soldier at the battlefield.

I love Skyrim and it's abhorrent to me how the Imperials are attempting to weaken the Rift, but the Stormcloaks leave a bitter taste on my tongue whenever I think of them. I can't find it in my heart to fight for a side who's leader is openly racist and xenophobic. Unfortunately, when I'm finally to the docks I see my attempt at fleeing Riften is being made significantly harder. Most ships docked are covered in soot and grime, but I can still see the head of a bear on each of their sides. A sigh leaves me as I see the mass of people already surrounded on the docks swarming and fighting one another for positions in front of the ships.

Children and fools willing to go to war and get wounded for a man who doesn't even know their names. I'm about to turn and leave when I see something that perks my interest: merchants. Hocking their wares and screaming at people to either step closer or get away. Nothing out of the ordinary save for a cluster of five or six merchants at the end who aren't even attempting to sell their items. Instead, they sit atop their chained and stapled boxes and are looking at each passerby with mistrust. A wooden sign in front of them makes their offer fairly clear.

"Armed and armored mercenaries wanted. 250 gold upfront, 750 upon arrival. Individual rates, locations, and cargo vary. Serious inquiries only."

I'd rather have found a job that didn't require me selling my sword arm, but my choices are limited at the moment. Besides, saving some merchants from getting killed by bandits or a stray arrow from a battle is a better cause than most mercenary jobs. I'll be doing a good deed, it's within my range of abilities, and the gold is enough to set me up in an inn until the war blows over in the Rift. Or, if the war is still raging, I'm still in another hold with new opportunities. I shove my way past some more people heading for thej ships. I anticipated the merchants being together in a group, so I'm shocked when I see smaller, individual signs in front of all of them.

Each of the merchants looks at me with hopeful eyes as I pass them. One is bringing swords and armor to Windhelm, one fruits and wine to Solitude, another skooma to Elsweyr, and the final is taking salted meat and furs to Markarth. Markarth and Solitude are too far for my taste, Elsweyr is out of the question since I've never even bothered to look at a map of it, and I don't want to contribute any more to this war than I absolutely have to. I'm about to turn and leave to look for work at the inn when I see another merchant further off to the side. All her fellows are elves and men, which makes it less than shocking when I realize they've forced the only Khajiit merchant as far away from them as possible without pushing her into the crowd's patb.

The woman is dressed the same as her fellow merchants: an old, threadbare woolen tunic smeared with stains; ripped cotton leggings the color of shit; leather shoes falling apart at the seams; and, for the final touch, a dried out leather belt with a chipped dagger hanging from it. Her attire is dreadful, but that's the only thing. She has legs that go for miles attached to a body whores and queens alike would kill for. Her long, smooth fur is a light fawn color with slivers of ebony running through it to form stripes. A thick, scarlet mane around her neck and head rolls in untamed curls down her shoulders and back.

I'm still looking st her mane and rack when I feel her eyes upon me. I cringe and she snarls as I meet her eyes. Her left one is a pretty shade of spring green. The right is a puffy, infected monstrosity rolled back in her skull and covered in white puss and gunk with her inner eyelids slid halfway out to form bright red cherries on either side. In short, the woman looks like an actual alley cat that's lost a fight. Her damaged eye almost makes me turn away before pity overcomes me. Most people get their cats because they look so pathetic and sad, and I feel the same way about this merchant. Everyone else has the advantage of having depth perception. This poor woman is going to have to swing her head wide just to see if there's a wagon about to pass her.

The woman doesn't get anymore friendly as I get closer. Her good eyes keeps track of me. Thankfully, her lips go back down. I read over her sign to make sure she's going somewhere I want to be. She's going to Whiterun with fish, furs, eggs, cheese, and a live calf for slaighter. A note at the bottom tells the fish, eggs and cheese aren't salted or pickled. The fish and eggs need ice changes at each stop, the cheese needs to be tightly wrapped and boxed, and the calf will need cleaned and fed.

Luckily, it notes she'll be doing all of that. All she needs me to do is make sure she doesn't get killed while her back is turned . The woman looks more friendly when I stand. She even has her eye partially closed to spare me the sight of the worst of it. Up close, I see her eye isn't the only scar she carries. Her face is littered in scars, burns, and yellowed bruises. Still, she isn't half bad for a woman who looks like she forgot to pay a drunken orc back. Her voice even makes up for it.

"Interested? I have to leave by dusk or dawn if the fish is to keep till Whiterun.". I nod and turn my shoulder slightly to let her see the hammer strapped to my back. The woman hums in approval before reaching for her purse and beginning to count out the upfront gold. 250 pieces are counted out.

"Take the crate out to the stables. Ours is the one with the calf tied to it. I'll fetch us some water and we'll be off." .And, just like that, I'm hired, 250 gold richer, and leaving Riften. The woman's gone without a proper introduction, but I pay it no mind. She seems almost as nervous as I am to leave the city. As I kneel to have the crate up, I realize why she's in such a hurry. The moist crate reeks of fish. Already, it's time is ticking. Fresh fish isn't uncommon in Whiterun, but idiotic nobels are always willing to pay more for "sea fish" they believe is better than whatever fish is pulled from their rivers.

I can guarantee the Khajiit can get ten times the gold for a fish from the sea verses a fish from the river. That is, if she gets it there in time. I heave the wet box up and begin elbowing my way through the crowd once again. Thankfully, the smoke has died down and when I exit the city to the stables the horses aren't spooked or on edge any more like smoke usually makes them. Two gigantic plow horses are pulling a likewise giant wagon loaded down with supplies at the end of the line. A calf nibbling grass that's tied to the wagon tells me it's the right wagon. I load the crate of fish in the back before going up to the horses. The older steeds sniff my hand before nuzzling it and competing for my attention. Both are grey with milky eyes, but their backs are strong and muscles still rippling. Experienced, strong horses will make the trip easier for everyone. The calf iis what I'm most concerned about.

I don't see a stall or cage for the beast inside the wagon .I understand not wanting to clean the wagon out every night or letting the animal too close to our food and water supplies, but the calf might not be able to keep pace with the horses. And, leaving the calf to trail behind the wagon means bandits and wolves will have an easier time picking it off. I have a chance to voice my opinion as soon as the merchant arrives carrying a case full of wine skins under one arm and a case of water skins under the other. She loads the crates into the back and begins tying them down in a complex pattern I couldn't repeat even if I wanted to. She tosses a tarp over them to shade them, then finishes the process by securing the back of the wagon in it's upright position. I take my chance to question her as she's inspecting the calf.

"Will he be alright behind us?". She grunts before finishing her inspection and moving onto examining the horses.

"He made the journey across Morrowind, was locked in a ship for eleven days, and finished the journey with me across Skyrim. He'll survive a little more walking before some Lord up in Whiterun eats him.". I don't respond as I watch the woman check the horses' leads, reins and bits. She walks around the wagon once to check the wheels and joints before finally climbing atop it and patting the wooden bench beside her to show me where to sit.

"You sure you don't want me in back with the calf?". She scoffs and rolls her one remaining eye.

"You're my bodyguard for this trip. Now, get up here and guard my body. The damn calf can get his head cut off for all I care as long as it's before me." I can't help chuckling as I climb up and take a seat beside her. I draw my hammer and check to make sure my armor is secure. It's only as we're bumping along the road I realize I've done it. I've escaped Riften.


	2. Chapter 2

The moon is high in the sky when the woman finally pulls us off the road and into a small, cleared campsite meant for travelers and wanderers to take shelter at. A fire is burning, some sacks are laying around the site, and a nearby donkey is tethered to a tree, but there isn't a single traveler at the site. Either they're off pissing, or they've had to abandon the site for a more nefarious reason. We've been dogged night and day by Imperial soldiers to the east and the fires they've set from the west. We've had to take trails not meant for wagons to get around where the main road lead directly into a fire, and all the while the distant sound of clashing swords and screaming horses have reminded us we're targets for Imperial and Stormcloak troops alike.

The Imperials want to strangle trade in the Rift to ease their conquering. Burning a wagon and killing the animals is the least they'll do. The worst is send an arrow into the merchant and conscript me. Stormcloak troops are known to be paranoid at the best of times. They're more than willing to tear apart our wagon and interrogate us to make sure of our loyalties. And, should they be dissatisfied, they're more like to send arrows into both of us. I raised the question of painting a bear or dragon onto the side of the wagon to save us trouble from at least one of the sides. The merchant quickly shot my idea down.

As far as she's concerned, declaring for either side makes us more vulnerable to attacks from the opposing one. I would have loved to point out I would know who's hostile and who's not at a glance and be able to react accordingly, but I held my tongue. The woman beside me doesn't seem a fan of violence and her stance in the war couldn't seem any less interested in the entire affair. All she's said of the battles so far is generic complaints and bitching when we've had to take detours or, once, when a stray arrow pierced the wagon's side.

Even now, she seems more interested in remaining as neutral and unseen as possible. She tethers our horses up against s thick, overgrown tree until they're swallowed in leaves, but not before maneuvering and whipping the beasts until they'd successfully hidden the wagon in a large, tangled overgrow of bushes and brambles with a few branches thrown atop for good luck. I do my best to help the woman, but she waves me away and hisses a warning whenever I near.

"Guard!". I'm only allowed to stop scanning the woods and road for enemies once the horses and calf are fed and watered. Finally, the merchant comes to me with a pack under each arm and the calf lazily following his owner even with the rope connecting the two slack. She collapses beside the fire without worry and I scam the forest once before following her lead.

For all my watchfullness and guarding, I've found nothing to be concerned of. The woods and road are both quiet and deserted and even the faraway battles have ceased for the moment. The stench of death and rot is the only worrying sign of trouble, but I can't decide if it's close enough to be concerning or if it's a distant battlefield blowing it's stench towards us. Ultimately, I do my best to scoot close enough to the fire until the smell of smoke overcomes the smell of death. The remaining smell of rotting corpses is pushed away when the Khajiit skewers two frozen, cleaned squirrels from one pack and hangs them above the fire.

The woman doesn't salt or season them in any way and instead opens the other pack to pull two skins of water and two clay jugs of pears from it. My stomach clinches to remind me of a fierce hunger I've been ignoring for a while. Squirrel and pears aren't fit for a warrior on the move, but I don't bring that up to my employer in favor of waiting. Most likely, she'll pick up fresher and better food at our first stop. After all, the shrunk size of the squirrels and shriveled pears attest to this meal being leftover from her trip to Riften. Even with the alluring scent, the taste further proves the food is old and nearing it's expiration date. The meat is tough and stringy, the pears are chewy beyond belief, and even the water has a musky taste to it.

I find it easier not to complain as I fill my stomach as best I can on the food offered. The woman beside me offers to fetch us some wine, but I turn her down while assuring her she can partake if she wants. The Khajiit doesn't get herself any wine and instead focuses on getting the calf fed and watered a little more before bed. I take the opportunity to take my armor and hammer off. My back and knees ache and my undershirt and shorts are soaked with sweat.

I shine my armor and sharpen the jagged side of my hammer while my employer finished tending to the calf and ties him to a stake beside the sleeping bags. Technically, the sleeping sacks belong to whoever's already here, but since they aren't in sight we claim them for ourselves. I stash my weapon and armor underneath the sleeping sack I've claimed and climb into the sack to settle down. The calf cautiously sniffs me before going back to idly wandering as much as his leash will let him. The merchant tends to the fire and gives everything one last once over before snuggling down into her own sleeping sack.

"You want me to stay awake first? I won't sit up and let anyone know we're up, but I can still stop a bandit or two by screaming as they're sneaking up.". The woman is already laying on her stomach with her eyes closed (the wounded one as best it cam be) and arms around her head.

"No need. Our brave calf can warn of of trouble. Damn bastard bays whenever someone wakes him up." I don't like putting my life on the line with only a cow to guard it, but I agree and the woman settles down. I keep my eyes open and adjust my head every few minutes to give me a clear view of the entire surrounding area. The donkey is already asleep and the horses are quiet, but it takes an hour or so before the calf finally stops tugging on his lead and goes to sleep standing up. The merchant's soft snoring fills the air and I'm left the only person awake. The fire slowly gutters and suffocates as the wood fueling it is burnt away to ash and blown into the wind.

Darkness shrouds the camp and everything becomes blurs of shadows as the moon and stars disappear into an overcast sky. Eventually, even the snores and breathing of everyone else dies down. In a way, that makes this even worse. Battles always leave a strange quietness in their wake, so the woods are as silent as the grave without a single breeze to stir the leaves into movement. When I'm not looking at the Khajiit's back rising and falling as she breathes I can almost convince myself the entire world save for me has frozen up. The worst part besides the stillness, though, is how when the fire is dead the stench of death begins to creep over the campsite once again. Nobody else wakes or even twitches as the smell consumes the camp until it reeks like a ransacked graveyard. I don't have any idea how I manage to drift off.

* * *

When I wake it's still dark and frozen and reeking. The screaming and panicking of the animals is what rouses me. Already, the merchant is awake and cursing all of their mothers as she tries calming them. I barely have my armor and hammer on when the smell of smoke and a distant, faint red light cast the camp into a false dawn. The merchant is cutting the rope tying the stranger's donkey up and doing her best to keep the calf that's tied to her belt from pulling her down into the mud. I rise and use the sharpened edge of my hammer to free the donkey with one swing. The beast brays his thanks as he runs away for all he's worth away down the darkness of the road in the direction we came.

The merchant doesn't have time to thank me as she passes the rope holding the calf over to me. I hold the panicking beast tight with both hands as he does his best to kick and bite to freedom. The light is becoming brighter and the smoke heavier as the crackle of the fire becomes less and less distant. The horses are whining and chomping at the bit as the merchant does her best to get them attached to the wagon. Thankfully, they're cooperative and she has them hooked in just as the flames become visible. The stench from earlier has its source revealed as bodies hanging in the trees catch fire. I'm attaching the calf to the side of the wagon when a stray ember on the wind lands on the foliage comoflauging it.

Neither the Khajiit nor I even imagined watering the wagon down, so the dried wood and leaves catch flame instantly. The calf screams and begins fighting harder than ever to break free. It's all I can do to contain him as the merchant begins trying to beat down the fire. Then, the sound of drums and heavy footsteps begins to rise in the east beyond the fire. The woman's still beating down the fire when I manage to get the calf under control. Another ember lands and a third soon after as the roaring fire begins to creep closer and closer. It's only when the wagon's fully alight and the footsteps and drums and fire are all screaming atop one another that the Khajiit admits defeat.

"Fuck it! Leave it, leave everything! Get a horse and fucking run for the life!" She swings her claws as she screams and cuts the horses free. They're both ancient, but they aren't stupid. Both rear and kick, their teeth showing and eyes rolled white. The Khajiit leaps atop one and it begins bucking her off. I hesitate with the calf before letting hum go. The calf screams once before running for all he's worth down the road in the direction opposite the donkey went. The fire is close enough I'm sweating under my armor when I finally mount the remaining horse. The Khajiit has hers under control and is awaiting me, but the fire and drums are loud enough I can tell we have scarcely have more than a moment or two before our horses will bolt without our command.

I cast one last look into the firey woods. Hanging bodies are melting, soldiers beyond the flames are casting demonic shadows, and fire has consumed all save for a few scant inches of land our horses are standing on. Then, just like that, our horses have had enough and I hang on for dear life as the unsaddled horses flies off into the night. Heading back towards Riften can't be done due to the flames and soldiers coming from that way. Fuck, the poor donkey that bolted is probably burning alive or in some soldier's belly by now. Thankfully, the horses are just as smart as the calf and run for all they're worth away from the flames and drums.

The merchant is ahead of me by a few feet and could easily outpace my weaker and less rested horse, yet she reins in tight whenever she gets too far ahead and is constantly throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure I'm still with her. Our night ride is torture. Whenever we feel safe and begin to slow our horses to a trot, a fire will hiss nearby or a stray arrow will hit a tree beside us. I haven't the faintest clue what the Imperials hope to accimplish. All I know is they're setting the whole forest alight to get it. Rarely, we push by a wagon or caravan of slower moving animals. None need warned and none dare stop. It's only when the sun rises I call to the Khajiit to tell her we best start running again. A fire ignites nearby and she whips her horse up to a run while screaming over her shoulder to me.

"New deal! You get me to a city alive and I'll give you everything save my pelt!".


	3. Chapter 3

We've been riding for an entire day and most of the night when the Khajiit's horse is struck by a stray arrow, runs off into the woods in a panic, and breaks her leg in a gopher's hole. Now, my already exhausted horse is carrying the burden of an armored woman and another person. We've wasted all of our remaining water on the horse and given her three short, five minute breaks. It's already shown it's not enough. The horse has her head hung low and each shuddering breath threatens to topple her. It's the only option we have to keep riding. We've amassed a small flood of fellow travelers unlucky enough to be ensnared.

The Imperial army is heading up the path behind us and stretches all the way around the woods to the east until their main encampment at a small, nameless village beside a lake large enough it can't be forded. To the west the fires still burn and wolves, bears and snakes are all on the move as they flee their dens and homes from the flames. Already, some poor old man and a few children have either been bitten by venomous snakes or stolen in the night by a wolf. A lone bear even dared to stick his head from the woods. The only reason he didn't desolate the line is because some smarter travelers pulled back and allowed the beast to continue his fleeing without interruption. Shockingly, none of this has made even a single person stray from the road.

Fires and predators and soldiers alike keep everyone on the trail. None of us know what's ahead for us, but ahead is the safest way. Most likely, what lies ahead is another Imperial encampment waiting until the tail end of us comes from the woods to show itself and pinch off our exits. I'd love to raise the idea of fleeing one way or another to the merchant. Unfortunately, her fall from her horse didn't leave her unscathed. A large, swollen gash in her right thigh only stopped bleeding an hour ago. Truly, the only reason I'm not on the ground leading the horse so the Khajiit can lay atop the horse is because I fear someone will topple the woman off and steal our only remaining horse.

More than once I've had someone walk too close for too long and had to run them off with a kick or threat of my hammer. Our horse might be dying and slow, but her size and weight move the current of humans and elves like a boulder in a river. Otherwise, the people around us shuffle and take maybe one step a minute. Our quick run came to a stop as every path connected into the main road and the fires and army pushed everyone down the one untouched way they could take. It's only when a fight breaks out ahead our horse is completely stopped by an unmoveabkd walk of people. The old mare nuzzles a few elves and humans who are in her way. All she gets is a pat on the nose from a nicer Dunmer and a few curses from the others.

I haven't the faintest idea what the fight is about and can't even see it; though, the sounds are enough to tell me what's going on. I sigh and turn our horse into the woods. Everyone else seems absorbed in the fighting or too confident that the fight will break up quickly because not a soul save for me moves. The thick, tangled underbrush takes me forever to navigate through and the old mare is less than cooperative. She hasn't eaten or drank in a while, so she's constantly trying to stop to nibble some foliage or drink from small puddles. I'm almost back to the main road when the first attack begins. A hail of arrows descends from the sky fired from the east.

Men, women, children, horses, cows, dogs, and everything else in sight begins gushing scarlet as a terrible, gut wrenching chorus of agonized screams and pleas for merch fills the air. All living things collapse, black porcupines seeping red. My mare smells the scent of blood and goes wild. I let her. The East is another hail of arrows to finish off the survivors and the west is aflame. If my horse thinks she has a clue about how to escape this, then let her. The Khajiit let's out a long string of curses as the mare turns northwest and begins running for all she's worth. The forest is a blur around the scent of smoke grows heavier. Flames become visible and the crackling of fire starts to overcome my ears as the mare continues towards the flames.

I close my eyes. Smoke and hissing and heat enough to make me sweat consume me. I don't know when I awake to the world again. When I do, the mare is dead between my thighs with her eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. Already, flies and roaches are crawling on her face. I look around and see charred, still woods surrounding me. Roasted animal, burned trees, and piles upon piles of ashes greet me. Somehow, that old mare did it. She got around the flames and got far enough into the burnt woods she felt safe enough to stop. I wish the old horse could have lived a little longer for me to give her a few pats and a rest as thanks. As it stands, I mumble the dead animal my thanks and dismount the collapsed beast.

I'm shocked to see the Khajiit sitting beside the animal, laying with her head propped up against the horse's side. A slowly bleeding, jagged hole in the horse and the merchant chewing tell me what she's been occupying herself with. The woman acknowledges me with a nod as I collapse down beside her and rest my head against the dead animal, a mockery of her own position. Death and ash and burnt wood overcome my nose as char and sweat stick to everything I touch. My throat is bleeding and cracked while my stomach cries out in agony, but I'm well rested enough from my collapse and unconsciousness on our ride northwest.

A _crunch_ fills the air as the merchant cuts through hide and muscle. Black, thick blood slowly leaks out of the bite she's taken out of the horse's leg. She hacks the jagged, bleeding chunk of meat into the palm of her hand and offers it to ne. Disease and hygiene are the least of my worries at the moment. Blood might dehydrate me, but gods be damned if it won't soothe my aching throat for a moment or two. I take the warm meat from the woman and bring it to my lips. A suck down the copper tasting, slimy blood as the Khajiit takes another huge bite out of our dead animal. My throat is soothed and my mind disgusted as I slurp and lick down the blood until the hunk of flesh stops giving it up.

Finally, I pop the food into my mouth as the merchant takes another bite out of her meal. The meat is tough and stringy and is the best meal I've ever had. I don't know how long we sit there in the smog and filth just eating the horse. When I'm done filling my stomach the horse's right front leg from the knee to hoof is stripped bare down to the bone. The merchant gnawed on the bone for a while before finally getting it open and sucking the marrow from within. When she's done eating, the horse is missing her entire rigjt leg. Bloody, stained bone and a hoof is all that remains. The merchant gnawed on the hoof for a few minutes before deciding it wasn't worth it and tossing it into a pile of ash. It's only when we're fed the woman finally speaks.

"Any idea where we are?".

"Not in the slightest.".

"Makes two of us. Any idea which way we came from?".

"The fire was in the West, so southeast most like.".

"That's great. I mean, it would be, if the fire hadn't been burning in the east.".

"It was burning in the West.".

"East.".

"Really?".

"I think so. You know for a fact it was from the west?".

"Now I'm not.".

"Now I'm not sure if was burning in the east.". We both fall silent. I was so sure we went northwest escaping the fire and that it was on our west side. If it was on our east side, then northeast would have been how we went. If we're northwest and try going southeast back, then end up having gone northeast to escaoe, we'll be walking right into an imperial camp. If we went northeast to escape and try going southeast back, then we'll most likely end up running back into the end of the fire. South is definitely out of the option considering both dangerous lay that way. So, northwest or northeast is safest. Northeast, however, will take us to the lakeside village where the Imperials are campjng. No matter what, we're trapped going northwest. I talk my reasoning out to the merchant and she agrees to go northwest and see if we can't get better acquainted with where we are.

"You have any idea which way that is?". I'm about to answer I know when I look upwards to the sky. Smoke and smog obscure the sun and overcome the sky; a blanket blocking out the world. I sigh and turn my sight back to the ground. It's only when the Khajiit rises I speak again.

"You know the way?". She shrugs.

"I haven't the faintest clue. Doesn't mean I'm gonna sit here till thirst or war kills me. I didn't come all this way to die.". I heave myself onto shaking legs and shed my armor as I follow her. The heavy metal is more cumbersome and valuable to steal than my underclothes. I follow the woman across the wasteland for a while before asking an obvious question.

"You have anywhere in mind?". The woman shakes ash from her name as she shrugs.

"Somewhere out of the Rift. I think I've had my taste for war sated.". I grunt in agreement. We walk for hours without sight of anything save for the occasional puddle filled to the brim with blood and ash. The sun is gone and the moon rising when the ash finally settled and let's us see which way we've been heading the entire day. Somehow, we've lucked out and we're heading westward. Unfortunately, lucking out means we're heading towards the mountain pass that connects the Rift to Whiterun Hold. We'll be able to escape the Rift within a day of travel. The only issue is the mountain pass in winter is sure to be clogged with hidden falls and starving wolves. Still, the merchant says nothing and I don't bring it up.

Night falls and neither of us suggest stopping or do. My bones ache and every muscle is tightening up, but I keep going. Stopping in this wasteland of death and destruction is asking for trouble. It's only halfway through the night when the temperature sharply drops and small, sparse vegetation and a few short saplings that survived the blaze begin to pop up. Even then, those quickly disappear in favor of hard stone covered in a layer of thin ice and harsher, older vegetation that erupts from the crags. I'm shivering by the time we see an actual small, melting pile of snow reflecting the moonlight. Soon after, the sound of wolves fills the air.


	4. Chapter 4

Even in the coldest of winds with snow piled high and frost collecting on her pelt, the Khajiit is undeterred. Her whiskers have icicles and her fur is stuck up in frozen tufts as she keeps plowing through the snow with claws out and growls coming from her chest. Her clothes are tattered and shredding worse than ever as she clears a path through the chest high snow for me. I'm in a far worse condition than the woman ahead of me is. The cold sent a chill into my bones and the night chased it into my lungs. My entire skin is a frozen, numb mass and my teeth haven't stopped chattering since I pushed my unprepared feet into the first snow drift. Nord people are built for the cold and, in all honesty, I think that's the only reason I'm not frozen to death. Khajiit are built for sun and sand and burning heat. That doesn't stop the merchant's pelt from insulating her from the cold. My feet are frozen and I'm nearly a block of ice when we finally earn a break from the desolate wasteland of quiet, immobile, unchanging ice and snow that's the mountain pass. A small, nearly covered cave mouth erupts from the snow with barely enough room for a grown woman to squeeze through. The Khajiit wraps her arms around me and helps adjust me until I manage to slide down into the outcrop. Instantly, pain floods back to my limbs and every joint starts throbbing. I moan in agony as the merchant slides in beside me.

The woman is shivering on twitching knees as she pulls snow over the mouth of the cave. We're plunged into a warm, comfortable darkness. For a moment, that's it. We both breath heavy and I can hear us both rubbing various body parts back to life. I check my fingers and toes and nose and everything for frostbite and come back alive and flush everywhere. I wait until I hear the woman stop checking herself.

"Lose anything?".

"Don't worry about me, I've been through worse.". My laugh fills the cave along with the sound of scrapping snow. The merchant passes me a handful of snow.

"Let it melt. Don't shove it in or else you're like to lose your tongue.". I cup the snow in my palms until it melts and drink it down eagerly. Luckily, an unlucky hare passed our path earlier in the day and the Khajiit was able to snag it on her claws as it tried running by. The raw, stringy meat of the rabbit is the best thing I've ever tasted. We split the animal and drink some more snow. Finally, we're forced to face reality. I'm about to speak when a small spark erupts in the cave. I fall silent as I see the merchant with a small, pathetic excuse of a flame breathing between her cupped hands. The top of our shelter begins crying as the woman swings the flame around. I'm about to tell her to put it out when she stops swinging it. I follow her line of sight behind me.

The cave we're in is a small, four by four half spherical bowl with a solid layer of rock below us and a curved roof overhead. The entrance we came in through is to my left and the merchant's right at above head level. To my right and the merchant's left is another entrance about half as much larger and at waist level. The new entrance slants sharply downwards into darkness. Silently, the woman edges towards the new hole.

"I'll slide down first. I didn't want to say anything, but I think a storm is coming this way. Our little snow roof won't protect us, but an actual cave might. If I break my neck, you have my permission to eat my corpse.". I scoff before groaning when the woman douses her flame. The last sight I see is her ass sticking from the hole with her legs kicking. I assumed she was joking, but a small yelp and wave of air tells me she's successful worked her way down the hole. I breathlessly wait as cold begins seeping in through our weakened snow shelter. Finally, a void comes from the darkness.

"Safe.". I guide myself using the wall until I feel the hole. It's cramped and freezing, but I slide down the tight length of it and come out the other side. Already, a small fire is going. A larger, likewise half spherical cave is covered in tatters of sleeping sacks and clothes with a few busted furnishings lying around. A collapsed section of a larger entrance tells me how it all got here.

The merchant is crouched by the fire and fanning the flames towards the exit I came through. I sit beside her and start warming myself beside her fire. Wood and rags burn merrily and quickly get us in better spirits.

"Sorry I didn't use my flame spell earlier. Afraid I didn't have enough juice until we ate that rabbit. I promise next time I'll look for something to make a fire before making you gobble raw meat.". She playfully nudges me as she keeps fanning the flames and killing stray embers that dare to leave the confines of their mother. I'm almost relaxed when the Khajiit stiffens. Her ears flick towards the cave entrance where we came through. She's still for a moment before I also begin hearing it: scratching. I rise and pick up a piece of shattered wood for a weapon. The merchant let's her claws slide out. We both tense further as we hear the snow roof the Khajiit made collapse inwards. I take position by one side of the entrance as the merchant takes the other. I get ready to swing as she lets her claws slide as far out as possible to the point it looks strained. A hand appears down the tunnel first, then a shoulder and head. The woman is a Dunmer with snow in her hair and a cloth wrapped around her face to protect against the cold. The woman across from me and myself both relax as commoner garb appears and tells us she's no imperial. I move to help her up when she's through on her own.

The woman screams when she feels my touch. I'm shoved roughly away before the elf's face turns up to me. The woman's hawkish features are sunken into her skull and paler than any living creature. Rotten, swollen scarlet eyes and serrated teeth warn me of what this creature is. I slide down the length of the cave, struggling to right myself. I scurry as quick as I can, but it doesn't matter. Clawed hands wrap around the vampire's shoulders and the merchant heaves then both into the fire. The Khajiit is able to dance through it quick enough to put her pants out by doing a jig. The vampire isn't near as lucky. The creature catches like a wooden totem and an ungodly screech echoes across the cave. The burning heathen tries to run towards the exit and out into the snow back. The burning corpse makes it halfway up the shoot into the smaller cave before dying. Her smoky, blackened remains slide back down the shoot and fill the cave with the foul stench of burning elf. It takes me a moment for realize what's happened. Then, I rush to the merchant and help the woman sit.

"There wasn't a storm, was there?". She shakes her head as she grasps her right arm.

"She was following us for hours. We needed a fire to kill her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. If she heard us I was afraid she'd just wait until we had to sleep.". I'm about to hug her out of sheer shock and joy when I realize she's grasping her hand even tighter.

She doesn't fight me as I pull her hand away. Her hand is swollen, her wrist is bent at an awkward angle, and blood is steadily seeping from a large bite in the dead center of her hand. I curse under my breath. I've only just become warm, had my thirst sated, and gotten food in my stomach. Nothing sounds sweeter than actually sleeping by a fire. Sleeping now, though, means letting the merchant die. I'm probably not getting paid any more and owe the Khajiit nothing. That doesn't mean I'm going to leave a woman who's saved my life more than once to get a fatal infection and die in a cave somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The merchant hisses and flattens her ears as I grapple her. Already, her wound is slowing and hurting her because she's a limp sack as I sling her over my shoulders and guide us around the fire. I kick the smoldering pile of melted flesh and smoking bones out of the way. Then, I kneel until the woman is level with the shoot upwards. She makes it somewhat easier by latching her good hand onto the lip of the smaller cave and letting me push her upwards by her feet. Still, it takes a few well timed pushes until she shoots out the other side without any effort of her own. The wounded woman doesn't even move as I clamber up behind her and land atop her. She groans as I flip off her back and look up at the entrance the vampire opened coming in.

The sun is leaking through the sky to the east and the wind has died down. It's still freezing cold and we're still technically lost, but the merchant has a better chance of surviving out there than in here. I manage to coax the woman into leaning heavily against the rock wall beside the entrance. I climb out first and begin shivering and going numb as I turn around and fall down into the snow to be able to shove my hands back down into the cave. Two weak, shaky hands grab my own. I squeeze them as hard as I can and the merchant's grip tightens just a little bit more. I firmly plant my knees in the ground and begin pulling. Slowly, I rise as I pull, careful to lift with my legs and not my back. It takes a few minutes and the Khajiit goes mostly limp during it. Finallh, her unconscious body is safely beside me after about five minutes of straining. A numbness and helpless feeling fills me as I look down at her unresponsive face. I've gotten her out only to make the place she dies even less comfortabke. I fall down into the snowbank beside her and desperately reach for her neck and chest. Her pulse is still weak and flutters beneath my fingers. She's breathing and her heart is going. That doesn't mean she isn't quickly on her way to a shallow grave. The look of her hand isn't helping matters eirher. The thing has swollen even more and now thick, black slime is oozing from where the teeth punctured the flesh.

I haven't the faintest clue what to do for the woman to either save her or, at the very least, ease her pain. It might cost me a toe and a finger along with some comfort, but I decide in the end that staying with her until she dies is the kindest thing I can do since strangling her or breaking her neck seems a cruel way to go. I'm still holding my unconscious employer when the sound of drums and marching reaches me.

* * *

Note: Yeah, everything went wrong. My ear got to the point I had to see an ENT and my dog pushed my computer off my table. So, gonna need a two week break. Sorry. Will update as I can. Currently doing it on my phone, so be gentle. This is a LOT harder than it sounds.


	5. Chapter 5

A knight dressed in ornamental, gold plated armor inlaid with silver in the shape of a dragon passes us first. His snowy white destrier would blend in with the pass if a thick, scarlet barding didn't cover him from nose to tail and ears to hooves. The giant beast kicks snow up onto the Khajiit in my arms as he trots by. Banner bearers in finery unbefitting for war carry two tremendous wooden poles with the steel dragon on a cherry background that warns of the Empire stamped upon their banners. Upon passing, one banner bearer intentionally shifts in his saddle to allow a knife from his belt to slip free and land on the ground beside me with a puff of snow kicking up when it lands. Otherwise, the train of men and women passing us pays us no mind.

Mercenaries, knights, scribes, smiths, officers, horsemasters, and dozens of others all pass us without a glance. More than once, I find myself edging my fingers towards the knife now hidden in the snow. Each time, the merchant moves or stirs and my heart compels me to stop and wait for just a few more moments on the low chance she pulls through. It's only once the army has passed and the vultures come that we garner more attention. Whores, merchants, carpenters, and anyone looking for a better future on the Empire's tailcoats come slowly through the pass. None attack or belittle us, but that doesn't stop them from ignoring us completely.

A priestess murmurs a prayer for my friend before moving on, some merchant she was acquainted with vaguely gives me a cup of wine to warm me, and a professional cutthroat asks if I want his assistance. I've barely turned him down when some actual help comes along. Two priestesses of Kynareth are trudging along with an oxen loaded down by crates upon crates of supplies and a collapsible tent strapped down tight. The two block part of the pass as they huddle together beside their oxen and whisper to one another while shooting glances at my friend. Soon enough, a third sister joins them as a cart loaded down with the wounded and dying rumbles up the path pulled by a team of donkeys. It's only when the wagon of wounded is in sight and stopped behind them that the two approach me.

They speak and motion and examine my employer, but I don't even hear my own responses to them. Soon enough, we're being loaded into the wagon with the wounded. Most have missing limbs or grievous wounds given in battle. The only other patient who lacks the look of battle is a pregnant woman with a sickly, thin babe at her breast. I'm not injured and could probably make the journey on foot if needed; still, I don't rise. I want to stay near my boss and, should that mean I'm taking up space from someone who's actually injured, then so be it.

* * *

When the march stops we're barely out of the end of the pass. Rough, scraggly trees barely grow between the crevices of rocks and I doubt the sun could climb between the mountains should we stay here for more than a night. Luckily, I don't have to assist my enemies in getting their camp ready. The sisters get the tent up and unload what they need. The merchant, the pregnant woman with her babe, and I are the first to be unloaded from the wagon.

All fight and strength has left my body, so I don't even resist as the sisters load me onto a stretcher and carry me inside. I'm placed on a table with my employer to my right and the babe and mother to the left. One sister attends to the wounded as the other two work on getting the hurt in from the cold. The babe is attended to first, but after a few mere moments the sister leaves the babe and goes over to the Khajiit. She stands between us and obscures my vision, but she still sees fit to talk to me. Luckily, I've warmed some from just being inside and resting is giving me enough strength to hear her questions.

"Does she require her arm to make a living?". I know why she's asking and I decide to move things along a little quicker than if she beats around the bush.

"How high up?". A grunt and _rip_ as the merchant is stripped naked and her tattered clothes are allowed to float to the ground in between us.

"Everything and more. Her arm, collarbone and the connecting bone will all need removed for us to cut around the infection. She'll be left with nothing save her ribs on the right side.".

"She'll die without it being removed?".

"There's a good chance she'll die no matter what, but removing the infection will give her the best chance of survival.".

"Do it.". I suck in a deep breath, hold it for two counts, and slowly release. I close my eyes and repeat the pattern as the sister moves away and begins opening crates and moving things around. By the time she's standing back where she was, her sisters have joined her and I can feel them all jostling around me and crowding around the Khajiit. The wounded moan and more than a few are crying out for water. For now, the sisters ignore their cries in favor of focusing on the woman needing major surgery.

I hear a strange _scrapping_ noise and a wet, thick sound like someone peeling a stubborn peel away from its fruit. It's only after a few seconds of listening I realize I'm hearing them peeling the merchant's flesh away from her body and cutting out her bones and muscle. I do my best to ignore it. Then, the faintest moan resounds from the table beside me. I feel the presence of one of the sisters leave and return a few seconds later. The moaning has picked up by then.

Luckily, the woman doesn't seem to come completely to before the sister does whatever she needs to do to put her under. As for me, it appears all I needed was warmth and rest. Soon enough, the chill has left me and hunger and thirst are demanding my attention. I force myself to my feet. I'm sore and tired, but otherwise I'm fine. The sisters ignore me as I move around the dark, cramped tent and begin ransacking their crates. I find a sack of peeled potatoes and a sealed clay pitcher of water. I devour and drink my fill before helping the sisters out by going to the patients crying out for food and water.

Most thank me while some are too thirsty or hungry they can do little besides gobble their fill and focus on not biting off my hands. After that, I put my vague medical knowledge to use by going from patient to patient and seeing what I can do. For most, I can't do anything besides change dirty bandages or adjust their bedding into a more comfortable position. Occasionally, I come across a bruise I know how to treat with some cream the sister's had on stock or a tiny gash that only needs a few stitches and a bandage to fix. The most challenging task I undertake is taping a man's fingers together on a tiny piece of wood to stabilize the broken appendages. Finally, I have nothing more I can do and return to my cot beside the working sisters.

Now, the sounds I hear before have been replaced by needles going through flesh and water being poured over the wound. I see a bucket down on the floor beside one of the sister's feet. Blood is splattered everywhere on the sisters and the floor surrounding them, so when I peer down into the bucket I expect to be greeted with more scarlet liquid turned black by night. It's only when I see a hand I realize what the sisters have put into the bucket. Unfortunately, as soon as I look away I'm made more familiar with the appendage currently detached from its creator.

"Please, you've helped so much, but we need the infected limb taken far, far from here. The festering wounds and blood already draw the wolves, we can't risk rotting meat calling to them even more.". The sister who spoke is the same one who asked me if the merchant needed her arm. I look towards her and see her holding the bucket out towards me. There's a lid strapped tight to it; still, I know what's in there. I cringe as I take the heavy, warm bucket and nod in agreement. The sister goes back to helping the others as they work away on the merchant. I heave myself off my cot once again and step out into the night. The oxen are chained to the wagons close to the tent with torches surrounding them. Already, the night is thick and I can barely see beyond the tip of my nose.

I snatch a torch up from beside the oxen and am preparing to head deeper into the pass when I hear a promising sound: oinks. I turn and head deeper into the quiet, sleeping camp. The pigs are trapped in a makeshift pen of wooden branches pressed up against a large stone. It's uncomfortable for me to dispose of the Khajiit's arm without telling her or letting her make the decision, but given the circumstances I hope she'll forgive me if for some reason she wanted to keep her infected limb or the stripped bones. Pigs eat all and the surest way to not attract wolves to rotting meat is not to have rotting meat.

I take the lid off the bucket, gag at the stench that wafts up to me, and pour the meat into the pigs' pen. The animals squeal with happiness and begin fighting and shoving one another for bites of the merchant. The infected meat is gone within seconds and, after a mere minute, the pigs are gulping down the last few mouthfuls of bone. The pigs squeal and oink at their treat before going back to foraging their little pen for any food they might have missed before. I stick the bucket and lid down into their pen to let the luckiest ones lick it clean, then turn back and head towards where the sisters are set up. I put my torch back down beside the oxen before heading back inside with the cleaned bucket in hand.

The sisters have already finished the surgery and moved on to their other patients by the time I walk in. One of the passing sisters, one I haven't talked to before, grabs the bucket with a murmured thanks before continuing on their way. I do my best to stay out from underfoot as I return to my cot and stand between my bed and the Khajiit's bed. The woman's naked, covered in a thick layer of mixed water and sweat, and breathing heavy. Still, I think the sisters did the best job they could. Her arm, scapula, and clavicle have all been removed in a forequarter amputation. The arm is, obviously gone, but the scapula and clavicle have been cleaned of blood and are lying beside the Khajiit in the space her right arm would once take up.

The wound has been shaved clean of fur, washed, and stitched together in a starfish pattern. The wound consumes a large portion of the Khajiit's right side and not a stump or even bump remains of where her arm was. Instead, a sunken hollow is where her collarbone was and nothing remains on her right side. It's just as the sister told me: the merchant is nothing save for ribs on her right now. Even her shoulder has disappeared with the removal of her scapula. Explaining this to her is going to be difficult. Thankfully, judging by how deeply she's out, that's a conversation for tomorrow.

* * *

Note: Sorry this took so long. Will get to PMs by end of this or next month. Sorry, just got my computer back and life is still busy rn.


	6. Chapter 6

It's three days before the Khajiit wakes. The end of the train of the Imperial Army is by Lake Ilinalta when she opens her eyes for the first time. I'm on the opposite side of the camp we have erected tending to the sisters' oxen in thanks, but even that far away I still hear her screaming. I rush as quickly as I can and still fail in my goal of seeing the woman awake. The sisters are crowded around her with her arm pinned down and a funnel in her mouth when I walk in. The Khajiit is passed out by the time it takes me to take three short strides to get to her side. Two of the sisters leave while the other stays by her side to tend to the stitches she reopened struggling against the priestesses. I watch the woman work and dare to ask a question.

"When will she be allowed to wake?". I know rest aids in healing and gives the woman a relief from pain; still, I don't want her sleeping her days away. After all, I need to get us the hell out of here and to Whiterun. We've been healed, fed and taken care of, but I still don't want to stay with the Imperials. That means, as soon as we have the opportunity, I need to leave with the Khajiit. I can't do that if she's still asleep and recovering.

"She'll wake soon. The flesh just needs to creep over the stitches a little more before she can rise. Then, she'll need to wash it and let the stitches be consumed naturally.". Some of the pressure is taken off me when I hear the stitches aren't the kind that need removal later. Now, all I need to do is get the woman walking and riding when the time is right. I mumble a thanks to the woman and leave. I'm back to grooming the oxen when I hear a distant whinny. I drop the brush and begin moving through the cramped, unorganized camp shoved up beside the shoreline. There's still a few hours or so before we're close enough I feel safe running with the merchant; however, it'd be best to find a horse and prepare it before I leave. Luckily, nobody in the camp pays me any attention.

The sisters gave me some plain brown robes of their own order, so to everyone I pass I'm no more than a sister running an errand for the sick or dying. I find the horses huddled together and staked by the shoreline where they're free to nibble on seaweed and defended from any spy or mercenary that might cut their lines and try getting them to stampede. Most are large warhorses only knights and generals use. I move down the line until I find skinnier and smaller horses meant for relaying messages and scouting ahead of the army. A pale, skinny palfrey perfect for riding long distances catches my eye. There are dozens surrounding her, the only reason she interest me is the black gelding palfrey tied to her harness to harness. The two are owned by the same person and most like use to being ridden together and beside one another.

I can't take the horses now. Instead, I simple walk to them and get them use to me. I stroke them, speak softly to them, and let them sniff me for a few moments. Then, I return to my wounded employer. The woman has a priestess feeding her a ground paste through a tube when I return. The sister nods towards me as she continues feeding the disgusting, tan paste down the tube directly into the woman's stomach. She's a little rough taking it out and manages to splatter the naked woman with the gruel as she pulls the tube out. The priestess mumbles her discontent before walking away to try to find a clean rag.

The groans of the wounded and smell of sick have grown into part of the background with how often I'm here. Still, I can't imagine waking up in a sick tent with the dying surrounding you after your last conscious thought is of dying in the snow. I do my best to comfort the woman throughout the night as the priestesses slowly wean her off the heavy, thick sleeping and pain potion they've been giving her since she first roused herself. It's only when the sun is rising and the Khajiit's stitches have grown flimsy, thin layers of skin over them that they feel comfortable stopping the potion completely. Everything is happening quicker than I anticipated and I'm definitely not complaining. As the sun crests over the lake, I stand by the Khajiit and take her one remaining hand in my own.

She doesn't scream when she wakes. This time, her glazed eyes open slowly and roll around lazily in her skull. It's only after a few minutes her eyes seem able to focus on anything. I'm glad to say my face is what she deems important. Her cracked lips struggle to form words and, after a small sip of water courtesy of the priestesses, she manages to choke out a word I'm not sure is a question or statement.

"Mjoll.". I nod and she doesn't try forming words. I stay by her side as slowly, over hours, her eyes focus more solidly and her lips and jaw are moved more frequently. Finally, at around noon, she manages to ask a question of me.

"What happened?". I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"The Imperial Army passed by and some priestesses of Kynareth picked us up and tended to us. We're nearing Whiterun.". I lean in and whisper the next part into her ear.

"We leave tonight. I've found horses enough to carry us. I'll tie them together so you needn't worry.". The woman offers me a small smile and shakes her head. My heart aches for her when she says something along the lines I'd feared she would say.

"I can ride by myself. We'll get there faster.". The woman is weak, but conscious and alert enough she'll realize what I say.

"I'm afraid you can't. There were complications from the vampire's bite.". The merchant frowns and squints. I cringe as she begins wiggling around, taking stock of her own body. A blank mask falls over her face and I realize she's discovered the complication. She doesn't speak. She doesn't ask questions. All attempts to get her to talk are futile. It's only around midnight she shows any recognition of my words. I tell her it's time to go when all the priestesses are asleep and the guard is changing. She doesn't speak, but rises and follows me on wobbly legs. She makes it halfway to the horses before falling and needing my shoulder to lean on. The woman looks away from the right the entire time and doesn't even raise her left arm whenever she stumbles or falls before accepting my assistance.

We reach the horses in silence and I cut lose the two I picked out before. I have to assist the woman through almost all steps of the process of mounting and it becomes clear to me the woman lost her dominant hand. She shudders and sinks her claws deep into the saddle as I attach her horse to mine. It's all the woman can do to stay on with one arm. If we had the time, I'd gladly tie her down and tighten the saddle as tightly as I could. Sadly, the guards don't take long changing and there's no way I can explain us being on horses we don't own in the middle of the night.

I guide the horses down the sandy shoreline so their horseshoes don't make noise, then guide them around the edge of the camp when we reach the thicket of the forest. The head of the train is near the smaller mountain pass northward of here leading up into Whiterun Hold. I'll need to keep us in the forest on the western bank until we reach Riverwood. There, we can find a change of clothes and, hopefully, trade our stolen horses in for some that won't be recognized by the owner of the horses we stole. I try baiting the woman into conversation once again with no luck. I give up trying once the riding gets more challenging.

The forest around us has no path and the horses threaten to spook at the slightest blowing of the wind. It takes all night of careful, slow riding before we see the fires of Riverwood. I bring us closer to the forest edge and cast a glance across the river to the stone path that leads to Riverwood. I see no soldiers or scouts and carefully judge the distance to Riverwood. Without thinking, I angle the horse I'm riding to the river and kick her sides. The horse screams and charges across without hesitation. It's only as the beast is about to hit the river I hear a scream from behind me.

" _Mjoll!_ ". I rein in hard enough my horse screams in pain as her teeth threaten to rip themselves from her skull. I'm too late. I hear the _splash_ and more screaming by the time I finally get the horses stopped and turned around. The naked woman is slicked down with mud, river gunk, and dirty water. The woman's lip is quivering and she's looking at me with large, glistening eyes. I feel terrible and only feel worse when I see her wound is wet and covered in mud. I dismount in one swift motion and _rip_ away the upper half of my priestess robes.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay. It's just a little water. I'll get you cleaned up.". I whisper more comforting words to the woman as I forcibly pull her from the river until she's sitting on the small, sandy bank. I do my best to begin wiping the woman's stitches clean. All I do is snag the robes on them and tug a stitch out. I do my best to staunch the bleeding while also continuing to do my best to get the woman dry. I try the charade for a few more minutes before giving up that the itchy, stiff robe will do anything to make the woman cleaner. I toss the robes to the side and sigh at my own lack of attire. I'd try to use the rest of my robes if I knew they'd do anything. Sadly, it's become clear the material won't absorb water.

"I'll try to find a blanket or something.". The horses were saddled and ready when I stole them (no doubt in case a scout needed to leave suddenly) and I pray there's something in there that's cloth and absorbs water. I find a small, dirty blanket used to wipe down horses underneath the mare's saddle. I bring it to the Khajiit. Her entire body is shaking and I hear a _guck_ _guck_ _guck_ noise getting caught in her throat with every shudder she gives. Her lip is shaking even harder and her eyes are fixated on her missing appendage. I shush her some more and finally begin drying the freshly bleeding wound.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay. They'll have an inn in Riverwood. We can buy a bath and some towels and we'll get you all fixed up. It'll be fine and I'll find you some clothes while you bathe and when you're done there'll be towels and clothes and food and wine.". I keep babbling promises I'm not sure I can keep as I, finally, get the woman's stitches cleaned up and can move on. I decide to focus on her face. I'd hate for the woman's eyes or ears to get infected because she took a dunk in some dirty river. I go to wipe her face when pain rips through my wrist. I pull back with a cringe and see three of the Khajiit's claws have made contact and I have three new, shallow cuts along the side of my wrist.

"Alright, that's fine, that's fine.". A loud, sudden wail pierces the night and sends the horses into a panic. I grab their reins and barely get them to calm down as my employer keeps screaming. Finally, when it's all died down and the horses are calm, I turn to her. The Khajiit is clutching herself and shaking, crying like a babe.


	7. Chapter 7

"It's fine. It's fine, everything is going to be alright. Don't worry, don't worry. I'll protect us if anything finds us.". The woman hisses and takes another swing at me just as I'm closing in to try touching her again.

"Stop saying that!". The woman slides in the mud and gunk as she swings her one remaining hand at my ankles. I don't move and the woman still misses and sends herself falling in her face in the mud. More muffled sobbing comes from the woman. Luckily, neither horse rears or runs. I cast a glance behind and ahead of us. No scouts or army is marching towards us and we're close enough to Riverwood I feel comfortable with the idea of grabbing the woman and carrying her to the town if need be. I dirty myself further by sitting next to the woman in the slick mess and saying nothing. Slowly, she cries herself out and just lies there. After a few minutes of lying there, she looks up with tears and mud and water streaming from her face.

"I'm right handed.". She cringes.

"I _was_ right handed.".

"I'm sure you can learn to ride-".

"I'm a _merchant_ you-". She shoves her face into the ground and screams while kicking her legs in lieu of calling me whatever nasty name she was thinking up. For her part, I didn't realize how much being a merchant requires having a hand you can actually use for fine motor coordination. Writing, weighing gold, using a loupe to judge the grade of jewels, and dozens of other mundane things require fine movements her left hand has never been used for. I allow the woman to cry as I keep trying to think of ways to solve the fact she's lost her entire living. After a short while, I realize there's no solution I can offer and the Khajiit most likely doesn't want a solution. She probably just wants someone to listen _without_ offering up a solution to a problem that can't be fixed. I wait and, thankfully, after a while my assumption proves true. The woman pulls herself from the mud and sits with her legs crossed beside me. She looks at the sluggish river as she confides in me.

"My mother was right. She begged me not to go to Skyrim and to take a ship to Hammerfell instead.". She sniffles a little before offering a weak laugh.

"This was my first trip as a merchant and I'm going home empty handed and without a fucking hand. My mother's never going to let me leave her sight ever again.". She falls silent.

"I thought you said you went across Morrowind?". She scoffs.

"Morrowind is where my family lives. I had hired guards surrounding me the entire way. It's the only way my parents would even _think_ about letting me go into Skyrim alone. They said if I tried crossing Morrowind alone they'd just send guards to bring me back.". I can't even imagine how terrible this must be for her. Her first adventure in life all on her own and she loses her supplies, arm and ability to leave home again. The woman keeps silent and it feels wrong to force her up after she just confided in me about her shitty life.

"I lost a sword, Grimsever, years ago. My father forged it for me a few days before he died. Ended up being the very last weapon he smithed in his entire life. It was the last part I had of my family. I was adventuring in the depths of a Dwemer ruin when I was attacked by a massive construct like nothing I had ever seen. When the colossus struck, Grimsever was knocked from my grasp and I was wounded badly. It was only through blind luck that I was able to crawl away from the Dwemer abomination and make my way to the surface. I must have collapsed, because the next thing I remember is an old friend, now passed, standing over me tending to my wounds. Even now, I have nightmares sometimes of my father's soul being trapped in Grimsever and him having to spend the rest of eternity in a ruin because I was too weak.". She remains silent.

"You're not weak. You survived to fight another day. Look at you now. You escaped an army, hid within their ranks, and escaped them again with a useless cripple dragging you down every step of the way.".

"You're not useless.".

"I-". I interrupt her.

"You lost your arm because you saved me from a vampire. A _vampire_ for fuck's sake! It infected most of your arm and you still fought off the last little bit that crawled in your bloodstream before the priestesses were able to cut it off. I told you that you lost your arm and we were escaping and you just _went_. No hesitation, no fear, no looking back. You've survived more by yourself than most merchants would. I can't tell you how many times I've heard of merchants getting killed by wolves or a single robber. Surviving is the hardest thing to do and you've done it.". We're silent until the light begins to rise.

"My parents have two children. My sister had a stroke in the womb. Her speech is good, but the second she talks you know there's _something_ wrong with her. She can't wash her own hair, she has flaking skin, and she had a seizure years ago we're still terrified will happen again. I was always the normal one, the easy one, the one they didn't have to worry about. They spent thousands of gold on sending me to therapy as a child to get my fear of strangers and talking overcome before I was an adult. They put all of their money on me winning the race. Fuck, they taught me how to be a merchant and spent hundreds supporting me so there was no possible way I could fail.". She looks at where her right arm once was.

"And I still failed.". I wrap an arm around her. She doesn't attack. I pull the slimy, muddy woman into a hug. She whispers into my shoulder.

"My parents are going to hate me.". I shush her and begin rubbing her back.

"They love you. When they hear of what happened, they'll just be glad you're alive. I'm sure they prefer you alive over everything else.". For a few minutes, she lets me rub her back and keep comforting her. It's only when we hear the far, far distant sounds of hooves and steel and talking that we get moving. I help the wobbly woman up and get her back on her horse. She's dripping mud and my shirt is still ripped off, so I decide we better hightail it to the baths before trying to get any board or food at the inn. The sleepy, idyllic village is thatched roof houses and rough stone streets with dogs and cows and pigs in every yard and knee high fences to keep foxes and raccoons out. I see a sign pointing to the baths deeper in the village and follow it. We pass a few two story houses with larger yards before getting to the back entrance of the village. Beside the low wall protecting the city from any attacks from the small, unused mountain pass beyond it, a little rock building with an open roof beckons for travelers and locals alike to take a few minutes to relax.

I hide the horses behind a the wall for safety, then help the Khajiit down. The bathhouse is barely large enough for two at a time, but nobody's there. The Khajiit and I squeeze in together. We bump elbows, share curses, and stumble around one another as we clean ourselves. The water is black and muddy when we're done. Honestly, I'm shocked when we get out we don't come out just as dirty as before below the waists. The merchant and I use some provided towels to dry off. Then, another problem presents itself: our clothes. The woman is completely naked, but if I pull my skirt up to the tops of my breasts it looks like I'm wearing a scantily made dress.

I rush off and find a few clothes hanging from a line in someone's backyard. I despise stealing and am tempted to leave a few gold behind as payment. It's only as I go to do so I remember I've lost all my gold along my travels with the merchant. I snatch a thin, cotton shirt the color of shit and some white working pants stained yellow and ripped in more places than it's sewn together. The woman doesn't complain in the slightest as she puts the clothes on. Her pants hang comically off her hips and her shirt's tight enough I'm surprised her tits aren't spilling out over the top of it. The woman adjusts her stolen clothes for a few seconds before giving up on getting anymore comfortable.

"Can you tie my arm off?". I nod and tie the right sleeve off at the shoulder and _rip_ the excess fabric off. The Khajiit nods her thanks before motioning for me to lead us back the way the inn was. I take her remaining arm in mine and head off. Soldiers are riding, marching and walking through the town leaving shit and garbage and disgust in their wake. None pay two locals any mind as we rush up the steps to the inn and disappear inside. The inn is abandoned and all the candles are burning low. In addition, the place is a pigsty: the firepit along the length of the inn has died; empty plates, cups and pitchers litter the floor and tables; rotten and decaying food and beer is attracting flies; and, to top it all off, the barkeep behind the bar is fast asleep with drool leaking out of his mouth. It's only as we work our way closer to the bar that a blonde, older woman in a faded, frayed dress rushes out from a backroom with a broom in hand to greet us.

"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant!". She _twacks_ the man on the back of his head and the tremendous Nord awakes with a grunt. The barkeep rubs the back of his head as the woman moves around in front of the bar to offer her hand to me. I shake it and release the Khajiit's arm so she can use her remaining hand to do the same when she's offered it. We speak to the woman for a few short minutes and manage to work out a deal. I offer her the two horses in exchange for food and board for the day with a donkey tomorrow when we leave. After being taken to the horses, the woman agrees and, upon returning to the inn, tells the barkeep to give us whatever we like as long as we don't go overboard.

I get a pitcher of ale, some thick slabs of beef, two bread bowls full of cheesy bacon stew, and a haunch of a dog. The merchant and I spend the rest of the night drinking, feasting, and dicing with one another as we get bored. Eventually, we swap tales of family and past lives and hopes for the future. I tell her of my mother and father and she tells me of a grandmother she failed to mention before that she loves more than anything. I share stories of adventure and she shares stories of stolen kisses in between studying. We both talk about what we want to do tomorrow. We decide on heading to Whiterun where the merchant has some gold stashed away. Outside, the Imperial army marches by, none the wiser.


	8. Chapter 8

I wake to the sight of the merchant sharing my bed still fast asleep. Her scarlet mane is disheveled into a giant, fluffy clump of red with only the tips of her ears poking through. Without thinking, I gently place a hand on her freshly cleaned fawn pelt and trace a thin, silver stripe with the pad of my thumb. The Khajiit sighs and leans into my touch. It's only after I've followed the tiny stream to her jawline I realize what I'm doing and stop myself. I've come to consider the woman a close friend who I've survived grueling trials with and forged a bond hardened by shared misery and pain. That doesn't mean I think she'd appreciate waking up to me stroking her like she's an actual cat.

Instead, I climb out of bed, put on my stolen clothes, and quietly exit our room to go to the barkeep. The woman from the previous night is now tending the bar and greets me with a warm smile when I come over. She hands me two plates of freshly baked, buttered bread and a thick slab of beef still sizzling from the fire it was cooked over. A closed horn of ale slung over one shoulder completes the meal to where I can present it to the merchant. The woman's already roused and up when I return, but the sight of food makes her plop back down into bed. Silently, we share our breakfast. It's only as I unplug the horn of ale and take a swig the woman turns our attention to the matter of the day.

"How far is Whiterun from here?". I pass the ale to her and answer as she throws back the horn and empties it in one fell swig.

"Hardly an hour's walk for a man with no legs. With the mule, we should be there almost as soon as we leave.". She passes the empty horn back to me and I smile at her before making a show of trying to get one last swig out of it. Thankfully, it works as I intended and lifts the woman's spirits. She hasn't mentioned her arm in the short period we've woken up and she's had no reason to be reminded of her missing appendage. That's going to change when I have to heave her up onto the mule. Sure enough, the woman grows somber when I dress and we go outside to find the mule we bought tied where our horses were placed the night before by the tavern's owner.

The woman's skin beneath her pelt flushes red as a few early risers stop and openly gawk at the sight of a Nord having to heave her Khajiit companion with one arm up onto a mule. The woman helps the process as much as she can by being still and only moving her limbs when I tell her what way they need to be moved. That doesn't make lifting a fully grown woman up to the height of a mule's back easy. It takes some maneuvering and careful instructions to work out how the woman's going to get onto the beast. In the end, it happens and, at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

The Khajiit scoots forward as far as she can once she's settled onto the mule's back. I climb up beside her and the mule _haws_ in protest at the combined weight. I reach down into the beast's saddle and, thankfully, find a whip. I give the animal a taste of it after I've gotten him untied. One more ear twitch is the most he protest before turning the way I want him and moving. We ride over a slow, gentle stream once we exit Riverwood. Along its banks, sentinel trees remain ever the same, but a seasonal tree among them is changing it's dress from green at the bottom to a light red and orange mixture at the top.

I take mental note of the change of the seasons while keeping it from the Khajiit. If she needs to return to her family, then the rivers and streams of Skyrim icing over will halter her progress. A good ship from Dawnstar or Solitude could take her all the way back to Morrowind without trouble. To get there, she needs to either take a wagon over land or a small, flat bottomed fishing boat mean to travel the streams and rivers of Skyrim. Wagons during war are notorious, as proven, for getting sacked and set alight along with whoever is on it. I doubt the merchant will relish the idea of going by land. On a small fishing boat, bandits and armies can be outran by an experienced fisher who knows the currents and can paddle like his life depends on it.

Ice means frozen streams and rivers. Even an experienced, wise fisherman can't make frozen water move. Winter also means supplies will be scarce and wolves and snow bears will begin prowling the roads. Telling the one armed merchant she needs to get moving or she'll be trapped in Whiterun isn't exactly traveling conversation. Instead, I turn her attention to something more pressing.

"Where's your gold stashed in Whiterun?". The woman adjust her position on the mule to more comfortably lean back against my chest.

"My parents were paranoid. They sent a messenger ahead of me months ago to stash some gold in a house we have there. It was there just in case something went wrong.". She scoffs a little.

"Good thing they did.". I sense her mood coming down and decide getting on the subject of her family might be best.

"Why does your family own a house there?". I guide the mule down a curving, twisting path and past a few small houses with thatched roofs. We're closing in on Whiterun, but we have enough time for her story. At least, I hope we do.

"We have homes in all major cities in Cyrodiil, Skyrim and Morrowind. Our operations mostly happen in those provinces and we have about thirty or so merchants under us who barter in our name in return for a percentage of their profits.". I slow the mule down as we go under the first stone towers and bridge protecting Whiterun from intruders. We've passed the stables, but I don't wish to interrupt the woman's story and the mule serves no purpose anymore. We can tie it outside the gate. If the guards seize it, then that's just the way it is.

"There was always someone to stay in the houses and the merchants paid us a few gold each time they used it. They could always use an inn, but there's something comforting about having a house to yourself and being able to lock each door and check each window.". I grunt in agreement. We've gotten within sight of the entrance to Whiterun and it's time to dismount. I slide off and open my arms for the merchant. She practically falls into my arms and it's all I can do not to go tumbling under her sudden weight.

I tie our mule to a nearby rock and offer the merchant my arm. She takes mine in her one remaining one and allows me to lead her through the gates. For their credit, the guards at the gates have the decency not to turn their helmed heads in shock or even move from their positions to bar entrance to a Khajiit dressed in peasant clothes. It's still early in the morning, so the merchant district of Whiterun we enter at is still quiet and none are traveling its roads. We've barely walked into the district before the merchant stops. A small, wooden house painted a simple beige with tinted blue windows awaits us. The Khajiit removes her arm from mine and begins searching rocks near the house's entrance.

"Hopefully, nobody's using it right now. I'd like to think they'd recognize me as my mother's daughter, but the last any of them saw of me I had two arms.". She snorts at her own small joke before finally turning over a hollow rock and finding a key beneath it. The woman fumbles with it trying to open the door with a hand she's never used before. Eventually, she gives up and passes it to me. Without a word, I open it and let her go through first. The woman moves along the walls and I stand clear of the door to give her light to work with.

A small firepit filled with dried, old wood is awaiting someone to light it. I hear the merchant curse before coming to me with flint and steel in the palm of her hand. Once again, I don't remind her anymore of the fact she can't even do a simple task by herself anymore. I walk to the fire, kneel, and strike up a small flame that gives the room light. The living space is simple, minimalist style consisting of just enough seats to be comfortable and only a few tables without decoration. I take a seat and look around as the merchant heads upstairs to retrieve whatever gold she has. I take my time as I look around just to appreciate how clean and neat the house is.

The dining area behind me has barrels and sacks full of food with only a single table meant for two to eat at. A small door underneath the stairs leading upstairs is all that makes up the living room. Everything is sterile and impersonal. For a merchant staying a night, it doesn't feel as if you're living in someone else's home. Rather, a safe place for anyone and everyone to lay down their burdens and sleep. I'm still admiring how impersonal the merchant's parents made this place feel when the woman returns downstairs in a panic. She completely overshoots the last step and goes tumbling to the floor with a painful crash.

The woman thrust out one arm to catch herself. I see it bend awkwardly at the elbow as she goes down. I'm on my feet the instant she starts falling and I'm by her side before she's even fully on the ground. That doesn't stop the woman from crying out in pain. I pull her into my arms and lap as best I can because I've already predicted what she might do. Sure enough, the woman starts clawing and punching the floor as she cries out again. I let her have her tantrum. I can't even begin to imagine the humiliation of not even being able to catch yourself from a fall. I let her scratch the pristine floor and curse to her heart's content. Slowly, she comes down from it until she's exhausted herself.

It's only after she's calm and exhausted on my lap that I'm finally comfortable trying to get an answer out of her.

"What happened? What's wrong?". The woman groans and rolls onto the floor. I reach out and begin stroking her back. It takes a little while longer, but I'm able to get an answer out of her after a few minutes of stroking in silence.

"It's gone. It's all gone.". I feel a stone form in my stomach and my chest tighten. Still, I feel need to ask for confirmation before assuming the worst has happened.

"What's gone?".

"The gold is gone. Every last coin. I don't know how and I don't know who took it, but it's gone and we're up a river without a paddle. Or a boat.".


	9. Chapter 9

The Khajiit is still collapsed at the table when I bring our breakfast over from the fire. The potatoes, water and chicken bones are the freshest things I could find in the pantry beneath the stairs. Given the merchant's mood, I didn't want to further sour it by giving her curdled milk or hard cheese. The soup I was able to make has thin broth and the chunks of potatoes are too thick with a few pieces of their skin still attached. I don't bother remaking it since I know I used all of the chicken bones in my first attempt at making the stew. The woman silently spoons down her breakfast. I try rousing her into talking without any luck. It's only after she's finished her soup, gotten up to retrieve some bread from the pantry, and finished that when she feels the need to speak.

"Ten gold. We need ten gold. I'm sure there's paper and ink around here somewhere. I can't write worth a damned, but I'll tell you the words to write. Gods willing, my mother will believe it's me and not some bandit or slaver trying to ransom me.". My heart sinks at the woman's tone and posture. Her ears are drooping, her tail is limp, and she hasn't moved her head up from where she laid it on her arms after she was done eating. I rise to find her paper and ink when I hear her whisper.

"I'm sorry.". The woman's voice is so soft and her posture so pitiful it sends a stabbing pain through my chest just to look at her. I move to sit by her. The woman turns her body away from me and doesn't even spare me a glance. Thankfully, she doesn't fight when I wrap her in my arms. I'm on her side without an arm, so she's practically swallowed in my embrace.

"It's okay.". A shudder overcomes her. The woman doesn't cry for nearly as long or hard as she had before. That doesn't stop her eyes and nose from both dripping moisture when she turns her head to meet my gaze.

"I can't pay you. I can't even give you anything in the house to repay you for what you've done. I'm sorry. If you want to leave, then you're free to go. You can stay in the house once my parents send someone to take me home. I'll make sure they send a courier back with twice as much as I promised.". My chest further tightens as I realize the woman still thinks I'm tagging along with her because of gold.

"I don't care about the fucking gold.". Honestly, I don't. I needed an escape from Riften with a promising future. I'm in Whiterun: there are smiths aplenty who need people with strong backs to forge horseshoes and nails for them; bandits rule the east and north stretches from here with dozens of bounties on their heads and nothing more than fur and wool protecting their entrails from a blade; and, most importantly, there are merchants for everything possible I can sell my junk from adventuring to.

The idea of returning to being an adventurer and mercenary leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I swore off that life forever after I lost my father's blade. Still, if need be, I don't see why I can't go on one or two bandit killing sprees before settling down for good. Some cheap iron armor and a two-handed sword and I'll be set for a good bandit hunting. Even then, I might not need to if the smiths are in bad enough need.

They're all talented smiths and I'm sure they need someone who can make nails and hinges and horseshoes to make the common items everyone wants that an amazing smith doesn't want to waste time on. I try telling the Khajiit all that. She keeps shaking her head and insisting through some way or power she can get me gold. It takes about an hour of back and forth coupled with her crying a few more times and insisting I must hate her before I finally seem to get the idea across that I'm truly not with her because I think the payoff will be good once she's returned to her parents. When I finally get that in her head, she's more willing to listen to me and stop sobbing.

"If you don't want gold, then why are you still with me? I'm in Whiterun, so I'm safe as I'm like to get.". She looks downwards and her ears flatten against her skull.

"You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to.". Somehow, that hurts worse than her insinuating I'm staying with her purely because I want some gold for saving her life.

"Trust me when I say that if I didn't want to be here, then I'd be out that door and gone. I want to be here. I don't know about you, but I think you're really fun to be around in the five minutes I've been around you when we weren't running for our lives.". She snickers and I offer her a smile as I keep going.

"You saved my life and I saved yours, so we're even as far as that goes. Beyond that, I don't think I could leave you without knowing if your family is actually coming for you. As much as I fancy having nightmares of your mother and father crying at home because I didn't help you get home, I think I'm going to have to pass on them.". She rolls her eyes.

"They'll find me.".

"How do you know? If you're psychic I'm going to be upset you didn't warn me about a few things.". She sighs and I keep talking to try to get through to her that I truly want to stay and help her.

"You're a nice person and I like being around you. Trust me, it's not a bother to get to stay in a free bed with pleasant company. There's nothing back for me in Riften, so Whiterun is as good of a place as any to make my new home.". She falls silent and I allow her to stew in it as she's clearly mulling all I've said over in her head. Finally, after a long time, she speaks.

"Okay. Are you sure I'm not a bother?". I hug her even tighter.

"You're the furthest thing from a bother.". We spend a few more moments silently enjoying each other's company. It soon becomes clear to me by the woman leaning heavily into my touch and the calm, relaxed posture she takes on that she enjoys physical affection. The merchant even goes as far as to let out a low, soft purr from deep in her chest that I can barely feel rattling my bones. It's only after the woman pulls away that I turn our attention to more pressing issues.

"Is there anything you can barter for ten gold in the house?". She sighs and rises to go examine the pantry. I stay in my seat as her voice drifts from the back of the room.

"I can probably get ten gold for half a dozen potatoes. It should be enough to buy a bird back to Morrowind. A courier will be needed from there, but my parents will be charged for that. I'm sure they'll accept the cost once they read who it's from.". She comes out awkwardly cradling six potatoes.

I go to her and take them from her and awkwardly use my shirt as a makeshift basket by pulling the bottom away and letting the weight of the vegetables create a makeshift cloth bowl. The merchant nods in thanks before disappearing upstairs. I move towards the door and, by the time I get there, the Khajiit returns with a sheet of paper between her little and ring finger, an inkwell clasped between her thumb and forefinger, and a feather between her middle and ring finger.

The Khajiit looks at my shirt in an unspoken question and I nod. She places the items into the makeshift bowl. Finally, we're ready to go. The merchant opens the door for me and we step back out into Whiterun. It's still early enough that not that many people are out and about, but it's still late enough that the stands are open. Further in the merchant district, stands erupt on either side of the cobblestone leading up to the main area. The inn and an actual shop stand catty corner to one another across the district with smaller, less intimidating stands of all types and sizes taking up the spaces between them.

A small, unused well in the center of the shopping area serves as a point of reference. The inn is large and impressive with two floors, impressive woodworking, and even a carving of a horse's head on the door beneath it's name _The_ _Bannered_ _Mare_. The store across from it is too far away for me to make out the name, but I already know it isn't nearly as impressive. Age in the form of stains and chips along with the occasional missing chunk of wood warns of how the inside might look.

Unfortunately, the merchant doesn't direct me to either the inn or the actual shop. As she walks past the stands, she examines their wares before finally settling on a stand where a Dunmer man with a fiery mane around his head is selling meat and pelts. She walks up to the front of his stand and I go beside her to properly show him the potatoes. The man eyes the vegetables, then takes one in his hand after asking the merchant if he could.

"Fifteen gold for the lot.". The gold exchanges hands and the potatoes are handed over. It's only as we're walking away with the writing materials properly in hand that I question the Khajiit.

"Why him?". She begins heading to a different stand as she explains her reasoning.

"He was selling meats and pelts. The stand beside him was selling vegetables, fruits and grains. I'm sure they got their stands together to make it easier for locals to buy their dinners. Steaks and potatoes go perfectly together. If he could steal a few customers away from the stand beside him, then why wouldn't he? I'm sure she's not letting him buy up her stock and sell it at twice the price just because it's beside a juicy steak.".

"Makes sense. I love steak and potatoes.". The woman throws a smile over her shoulder as she stops beside the stand she was heading for.

"After this, I swear I'll try rustling up some rabbit or cow.". My stomach full of potatoes and water clenches at the mention of meat.

"I'll hold you to that.". Our conversation dies off as the Khajiit turns towards the stand. I cast a glance upwards to see where we've ended up now. The stand has a raven painted on it and, sure enough, behind the desk are cages upon cages of ravens and crows still asleep and dreaming.

On each cage, a sign with a destination and price hangs. Morrowind is, thankfully, exactly ten gold. The amount of birds in the Morrowind cage attest to how many birds they have in case one doesn't return. The merchant passes the gold over to the man in dark robes and an even darker turban. He takes it without looking.

"Would you care for ink and paper for a small fee?". She shakes her head and motions to me. I place the paper down and get the inkwell ready. The man nods with a smile before turning to prepare a bird. The merchant turns to me with a forced smile.

"Looks like it's time to get writing!".


	10. Chapter 10

_Mother,_

 _I am alive and unwell. I fear you and father were right about this journey being too much for me to handle. There has been an accident and while I have arrived at Whiterun I lost all my cargo and cattle. In addition, the gold we had stashed has gone missing and I have not the faintest idea who might have taken it or when. Please, I know it is asking a lot of you since you have already sunk so much gold into this lost venture, but I am begging you to give me more so I may buy horses and provisions enough to see me home. A brave warrior is in my service and, while she swears she needs not for gold, I wish to repay her for all she has done._

 _She has saved my life more times that I can count during my journey and even now she refuses to leave my side until she knows I have been safely returned to you. Her chivalry might make her unable to ask for gold, so I would like very much to give her riches befitting the service she has done me by saving my life and returning me to you. I am begging you, if you can not send gold, then at least send letters of promise. Our closest ally is in Dawnstar, but if you see fit to send me there I will not argue. I long for home and father and sister and you. Allow me back and I shall never leave again if you and father wish. I have gotten myself into so much trouble and I have not the foggiest of ideas on how to put everything aright._

 _As of Loredas 30th, Last Seed 4E 201, I am located in Whiterun in the house you have purchased with my warrior companion guarding me. I have no supplies or provisions save for those found in the home. Even the clothes on my back are borrowed. I was able to trade some potatoes to get enough gold to send this to you. Beyond that, there is nothing in the house for me to use to gain any substantial amount of gold. I am in dire need. I understand the dangers of sending gold by courier or bird, so I don't expect your answer to come soon or any plan to be brought to fruition within the next week or beyond. Please, just let me hear from you. Give me a sign my letter got through. I still have terrors from my journey that I wish not to discuss through paper._

 _Just know many of my dreams are haunted by visions of you and father and sister fading away with me helpless to prevent it. Even if it is false, I pray your return letter brings hope that I shall see you one day. Even my warrior traveling companion can not give me the solace a mother can. There is also a more dire matter of what has occurred to me during my travels from Riften to Whiterun. I wish not to discuss them in paper or person. Luckily, as soon as you see me I'm sure you will realize what I was referring to and understand why I chose not to discuss it._

 _With love,_

"I want to sign my name.". I glance at the Khajiit and see her looking at me with a locked jaw and quivering lip. The woman took an hour to tell me the words to write and constantly had me going back and changing words or striking sentences. We ended up using our remaining five gold to buy another sheet of parchment when we looked over the final draft and saw the paper was more strikes and scribbles than actual letter. Throughout the letter, I notice the merchant being vague. Given our luck, I can't blame her. A bandit who brings down a bird and sees a letter promising riches and rewards for the return of a merchant's daughter will have no qualms with a little kidnapping with some abuse along the way. Still, the merchant's parents are going to want some assurance this is their daughter.

Writing back and asking the raven keeper the description of the woman who sent the note would suffice given she's the only Khajiit within Whiterun, but that means the process needs to take even longer. Her name signed would assist if it wasn't for the fact the entire letter was in a stranger's writing. A signature would show that the Khajiit was who she was and the letter was written with her permission and blessing. Of course, I remember one very important fact about the woman before me: she's right handed.

"I don't think that's a good idea. They might not,". I swallow past the lump in my throat telling me not to continue. "recognize your signature.". Sure enough, I shouldn't have said that. The woman's lip begins quivering even more as her ears droop to the sides of her head. Even her whiskers lose some of their perkiness as she gives me a look like I've murdered her puppy.

"Alright, point taken. Just practice on the back of the other letter for a few tries, please?". She nods her consent as her ears and whiskers return to their normal positions. I flip the first letter we wrote onto its back and pass the feather to the Khajiit. Her first signature is a mess and every one after that isn't much better. It's only after she's ran out of room and her signature is still sloppy that I arrive at another idea.

"Could you put your paw print on the back of the letter? It should be dry enough by now.". The woman frowns at me.

" _Hand_ print. And, yes, I could.". She flexes her one remaining hand. It's not like there are many other Khajiit sending letters from Whiterun to her parents. I'm sure the print of a Khajiit would be enough to assure them it's their daughter writing them. After all, no other race can hope to mimic the unique way a Khajiit's hand flexes and stretches when placed flat on a surface. With the claws throw into the mix, I have no doubt her parents will believe her.

The woman offers her upturned hand to me with her claws already out. I take our inkwell and upend it over her hand while making sure to coat every inch. It's only when the inkwell is dry I move it away from the woman's hand. I roll the final letter onto it's blank side and the Khajiit lets her hand stop dripping. Then, one smooth stroke down the letter's length and she pulls back. Her paw print is stamped in clear ink with the texture of her fur and shape of her claws clearly there. With the unique length of her fingers and the awkward position of the thumb all Khajiit share, there's no questioning it was a Khajiit that stamped her hand on the page.

I flip the letter over and begin waving it to let the print dry. As I do, I take the feather and scribble the merchant's name below the parting on the letter. After a few minutes, everything is dry and perfect. The man wearing a turban returns to us as soon as he sees we're done. A bird is standing on his shoulder and already agitated and looking towards the sky. He strokes the animal's feathers once to calm it while talking to us.

"I'll seal the letter to prevent fraud. Do you wish any sigil to be inlaid in the wax?". She nods to my surprise.

"A beaver holding a bunch of grapes.". He goes about shuffling underneath his desk and gives me a chance to talk to the merchant.

"A beaver holding grapes?". She nods.

"It was painted on the building my father first bought to operate out of. We kept it. Now, if you see our ships or a building we own, it has a beaver holding grapes on it. My father even tried buying a beaver from High Rock once. He only returned it once my mother refused to live under the same roof as an "overgrown rat with buck teeth".". I scoff in amusement as the man finishes up and attaches the letter to his bird. He thrusts his arm upwards and the raven is off in a puff of shit and cawing. Slowly, the woman and I leave the stand as we both simultaneously realize that there's nothing left for us here. The two of us awkwardly begin walking back towards the house we're staying at. We're halfway there when the merchant tries making conversation.

"What now?". I stop and the woman stops with me. We move to the side of the road just in case there's traffic coming by. I mull the situation over before hearing the _ding_ of a hammer striking metal and remembering the smithy we saw on the way in.

"I think I'll go down to the smith and see if they need any help. I could earn us a few gold to buy some dinner.". The woman shakes her head.

"I promised you steak.". I laugh and take her in my arms.

"I promise I won't get mad if we postpone our steak dinner for a little longer.". I notice a slight blush has arisen underneath the woman's fur as I pull back from her. I have the decency not to mention it as she stutters a few false starts out. Finally, she manages to spit out what she intends on doing while I'm inquiring about a job.

"I'll explore the city and see if there's anything of use for us. There are plenty of barrels nobody owns that I can check for food in.". The idea of the Khajiit that's missing an arm routing through the trash for food sounds like the worst idea I could think of. Still, I don't question her. Letting the woman test her own limits and explore the city doesn't sound like a bad idea. After all, she'll need to adjust to life with only one arm sooner or later unless she can someone regrow it. The worst that could happen to her is she accidentally falls in and can't get out because of her missing arm. It'll be humiliating, but there are guards and citizens everywhere.

If they don't see her fall in, then they'll hear her screams for help sooner or later and someone will come to turn the barrel upside down. The best that could happen is she doesn't fall into a barrel and actually gets some decent food from looking around in the garbage. The woman still has a wicked set of claws and fangs on her along with enough spirit even a horsemaster couldn't break her, so I'm not worried about her being attacked or robbed. Still, I give her a word of advice as I begin to leave her.

"Be back at the house before the sun is down. It's dangerous at night.". She nods and we part ways for the day. Thankfully, the smith is working when I find her and it only takes her a few more hits before she reaches a stopping point. A few minutes of back and forth follow before she offers to let me use her forge and some materials in return for the end products at half price until she's made up the cost, then everything she purchases will be for the whole price she would pay otherwise. I know enough about how to smith and my back is strong, so I take her steel and iron and leather without complaint and get to work. If I'm lucky, there'll be enough for a steak dinner when I'm done.


	11. Chapter 11

I return to my temporary home with a deep ache in my lower back and a sack of gold tied to my waist. A company of mercenaries along with nobility returning from a hunt both stopped by the smith and inquired about new shoes for their horses and repairs to weapons and armor. The smith did most of the repairs on the weapons and quite a bit on the armor; however, the shoes were left to me. Bending for hours on end to remove and hammer in new shoes has made me work harder for my gold than I anticipated. The only good to come of the excess work is a few hundred gold coins were given to me at the end of the day.

I have more than enough for the merchant and I to eat a hearty meal at the local inn and stop by the market to find us clothes that fit. I'm already planning our dinner when I push my way inside and smell cooking meat. My stomach growls and painfully twists itself into a knot at the sight of the Khajiit bent over tending to the fire she's cooking our steaks over. It's only when she falls back into a crouch that the knot in my stomach undoes itself and I'm left with only the gnawing hunger. Along with the steaks, I notice some new additions to the house along the walls, hanging from the ceiling, and in a pile on the floor beside the fire. Apparently, the Khajiit also had a busier day than anticipated.

A tanned pelt of leather, brushes, and felt are hanging from the walls in different portions and sections with large and small items alike of every part. Hanging from the ceiling are bones, cuts of meat, and internal organs of a large animal still bleeding and swinging. Below them, buckets collect their blood and keep it from staining the floor. Finally, the "reject" parts of the animal are sitting beside the fire. Hooves, connective tissue, brain, jars of fat, and multiple unidentifiable parts of the creature are in a pile. I'm sure there is some use for those or else the merchant would have gotten rid of them. Sure enough, I'm proven right when the woman reaches down to pull some fat from an open jar to add to the pan.

A small collection of salt, pepper, and a bowl containing a mixture of spices are resting along the edge of the fire. It's difficult for the woman missing an arm to cook. Still, I don't stop her. Instead, I sit in a chair facing the fire and watch her work. The woman uses claws and fingers alike to cook the two thick, large slabs of meat. Her claws serve as makeshift prongs to flip the flesh while she uses the pads of her fingers to sprinkle and rub the spices into the meat. A saddle in the corner I haven't noticed before tells me where everything came from and what happened to the mule we left tied up outside of Whiterun.

"And after he brought us all this way? _Tsk_ , _tsk_ , what will your mother think?". She smirks and keeps her eyes on the cooking.

"I fear our faithful steed wasn't a he.".

"Damn, I was looking forward to eating his penis and having his balls for an after dinner snack.". She glances up at me as she allows the steaks to cook for a little longer.

"I'm sure the frozen box in the pantry has something to make up for it.". The Khajiit doesn't say anything else as she goes back to making sure our steaks don't burn. I give into my curiosity and rise. The pantry has been cleaned of rotten food and a single shelf is filled with fresh potatoes, carrots, and cabbage. What takes up most of the space is a wooden chest with water slowly dripping out the bottom. The ice surrounding it and atop it already warn me whatever is inside needs to be kept cold. I brush the ice from the top and resolve myself to a quick glance to keep whatever is inside as fresh as possible.

Inside the crate, covered and resting on ice, is an unborn donkey rests. The poor beast was far enough along it's easily recognizable as a donkey. Fur, hooves, and a fully developed body tell that the donkey we rode to Whiterun was close to giving birth. It's a little morbid to imagine a foal so far long dying in the womb as it suffocated for its mother dying, but it's also more tantalizing than I can describe.

Only royalty and nobility can afford to purchase pregnant livestock and butcher both mother and foal. Even merchants and trading caravans aren't rich enough to purchase a pregnant animal only to throw away both. Sure, it's not unheard of to wait until the foal is born, butcher the mother, and wait until the foal grows to butcher it, but most nobles swear by unborn meat. I shut the lid on the donkey and return the ice to atop it. I haven't the faintest clue how to cook one, so I'm hoping my companion will have an idea. Thankfully, when I return to my seat she sees fit to let me in on her plan.

"I'll baste and roast him whenever you like. I'll even let you eat his penis and have his balls for a midnight snack.". She shoots me a wink to show she's joking, then disappears to fetch plates. I assist by rising and holding the two plates for her. The Khajiit removes the steaks before going into the pantry to retrieve three potatoes and a small pouch of butter. I put the steaks to cool on the table and do the best I can to help the merchant in finishing up dinner. I've peeled the potatoes and added the butter into the greasy, still hot pan when the merchant asks me to do something else for her.

"Can you go get us some ale or beer to drink? I tried finding some wine or milk, but I'm afraid the butcher took all my gold after he took the choicest cuts of meat.". The gold I earned is burning through my pocket and I agree in an instant. The sun is setting and the market abandoned, so I shove into the inn. The place is crowded and dark and full of the sounds of laughter melting together with songs. I push my way through the throng of people and somehow manage to get myself to a dirty, wet bar with an innkeeper in front of me. I take the gold from my hip and present it to her.

"You're finest wine and best sweets.". The woman scoops up enough coins I grimace. What she comes back with, thankfully, makes up for it. An entire tray of cinnamon rolls, bear claws, and other delicious apple and strawberry pastries in the dozens is handed to me. Then, a plugged skin of warm frosting follows. The innkeeper sees my hands are full and puts my five bottles of violet and scarlet wines into a basket that I can slide down my arm.

I thank the woman as much as I can while shoving my way backwards through the crowded inn to keep the pastries and wine safe. Luckily, I somehow manage to exit the building with everything intact and still looking beautiful. It takes some careful movements and planning, but I get through the door and back into the house without needing to call for the Khajiit's help. The woman has doused the fire and is lighting some candles on the table when I enter.

"I got us something to drink.". The woman turns to say something and falls silent. The woman gapes and stares at me even as she's helping me move dinner around to make room for the tray of pastries and bottles of wine. The steaks and mashed potatoes look even more appetizing with pastries and wine surrounding them. The merchant manages to stumble out a few lines of praise and adoration before I cut her off.

"I like seeing you happy.". The woman's ears go flat against her head and I see a blush beneath her pelt. This time, I don't apologize or try to make her less embarrassed. What I said was true: I like seeing the woman happy and take pleasure it doing so. It's only after we start eating I remember the frosting. The woman practically moans as I pour a healthy amount onto the pastries and, when I find there's still some left, pass the sack to her.

She rolls her eyes once before giving into temptation and drinking the rest of the warm frosting like wine. I get to enjoy it also when she pulls back too early and gets her face covered in frosting. My merchant friend sputters and puts the still somewhat full sack off to the side as she does her best to clean her face. As she does her best to save her dignity, I take a moment to appreciate the meal she put together to the best of her abilities.

The steak is cooked rare like I like and the potatoes are more butter than vegetable. Putting them together makes the entire thing perfect. I eat my food by item and, soon enough, the steak and potatoes are gone and only pastries and wine are left. I open a bottle of scarlet for myself and violet for the Khajiit. She's finally gotten her face somewhat cleaned. There's still frosting all around her mouth and on her lips with the frosting on her forehead and chin safely smeared and wiped away. The still present frosting doesn't stop my friend from downing the sweet wine in one long series of gulps. It's only at my urging she doesn't open another bottle. Instead, she begins taking pastries for herself.

I don't bother stopping her given the fact the tray is large enough it's almost shoving us off the table. I join in on trying to finish off the tray. We get close, but there's still half the pastries untouched when we both stop. Then, I open two more bottles of wine and the pastries look more appetizing than ever. The merchant and I are soon working on devouring the sweets once again. When we're finally done, the candles are burning low and there's still a row of cinnamon rolls covered in frosting and a bottle of violet left. I open the wine and offer it to the merchant. Shockingly, the woman shakes her head. I don't even get the question out when there's an answer.

"I took a sip of scarlet, but you haven't had any purple. Wouldn't be fair.". Her voice is thick and rough which sends a twinge through my tummy. I groan in response and open the bottle.

"How about we share?". My friend nods before clumsily rising to her feet and stumbling over to my side of the table. She sits with her side missing an arm to me. I take a sip of wine as she flips the tray so the pastries are on the side closest to us. My stomach groans and complains as I ignore it and keep shoving pastries and wine down my throat. Soon, there's a pattern established. Take a sip of wine, pass the bottle, and bite into the pastry you're working on. By the time you've swallowed your bite, the bottle should be ready to be passed back to you. The wine runs out before the pastries. Our pace slows down significantly as we get closer and closer to meeting in the middle.

"We can save some for tomorrow.". The woman grumbles at that and keeps trying. Finally, we break the last one in half and we both practically inhale our share. I pull the last few drops of wine from a previous bottle to wash it down, then turn to the merchant.

"This was nice. We should-". I'm cut off as the woman's lips are slammed against mine and her one remaining hand traps my head.


	12. Chapter 12

The dawn finds me still awake soaked in sweat and with a woman curled under my arm. My merchant friend had practically forced me upstairs last night, but by the time she slipped into bed the wine had made sleeping the only thing the woman was capable of doing. For that, I'm thankful. Stripping naked might not have been the safest choice considering how the woman's hands wandered on our way up the steps; however, I didn't have a choice when the heat in the upper level of the house became almost unbearable. Even in my underclothes and with the blanket throw off to the side, the heat from the Khajiit and myself mean we've both soaked through the sheets and are slick and shining with sweat. In fact, all I've done all night is sweat while looking at the ceiling.

Whenever I start to drift I imagine the merchant waking first and finding the two of us naked, the bed soaked, and the sheets in disarray. The last thing I want is my friend thinking I fucked her last night. Drunken sex with friends generally turns out making the friendship poorer. Unfortunately, I've been thinking about drunken sex whenever I'm not thinking about how the woman under my arm is going to react when she wakes up. Some small part of me keeps imagining what having sex with the merchant would have been like had we both been competent enough to continue. I can't stop myself from wondering throughout the night how having sex with a Khajiit would differ from sex with another Nord.

 _Does she shed?_

 _Will her hair come off in my mouth?_

 _Is her cunt clean, or would the fur make it messier?_

 _Would she claw my back to shreds?_

As I keep going, I keep thinking of more specific questions pertaining to the woman herself instead of her race.

 _Would she mind if I took control?_

 _Fuck, does she even know how to fuck a woman?_

It's only when my stomach starts to tighten I shake the thoughts off. That doesn't stop them from creeping back in once the woman starts cuddling up closer to me. Her warmth in unwelcome in the heat of the floor we're on, but I don't push her away. I don't know what time she wakes up. All I know is that the sun is shining through the windows when the merchant starts stirring. It takes her a long while to finally fully wake. The first thing she does in sigh without opening her eyes. Then, she seems to realize she's holding onto me because her hand tightens. Next, she mumbles into the side of my neck.

"What am I touching?". She squeezes the side of my stomach a second time.

"Me.". She snorts.

"I know I'm touching you. I meant, what _part_ of you am I touching?". I hesitate before a third squeeze pulls the answer from me.

"You're touching the side of my stomach.". She groans and nuzzles deeper into me. My chest tightens and I can practically feel my entire body heating up.

"We didn't have sex last night.". It's not a question, but I still answer it like one.

"No, we didn't have sex last night.".

"Why?". I turn my head and slide my arm out from underneath the Khajiit. The merchant grabs my arm halfway and gives a high whine in the back of her throat. I leave my arm where it is. The woman doesn't open her eyes, but I still look her in the face as I talk to her.

"What do you mean?". I can see her roll her eyes beneath their lids.

"Why didn't we have sex? I seem to recall a certain someone dragging the other up the stairs.".

"That certain someone was _you_.". A smirk that plays across her face tells me she knew damned well it was her who pulled me up the stairs.

"We didn't have sex because you were drunk.". She frowns.

"So were you.".

"I wasn't drunk enough I tried pissing a fire out.". The merchant did indeed try to piss the fire out before I managed to drag her away and convince her using a bucket of water was safer.

"Well, I'm not drunk now.". The woman's eyes roll open. Her pupils are a little dilated and red around the edges. Sadly, I don't think that means she's drunk. Hungover, maybe, but not drunk. If she was still drunk, then I doubt she'd be flinching at every little noise. I've barely time to react before the merchant's lips are back on mine. She taste of bad breath, wine, and pastries. I let the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling back. A warm, furry body slides over mine as wet lips attach to my neck. I'm a creature of flesh and desire who's more than susceptible to temptation. That's why I relax and enjoy the sensation of a warm body moving atop mine and a harsh love bite on my neck. It's only when the merchant pulls back I find the strength to move my hands to her face. I grasp both cheeks and force her to look me in the eyes.

"As tempting as this is, I'm afraid we can't.". She pouts and I feel her tail twitching against my leg.

"Why?". I sigh and roll my eyes at her.

"Because I don't fuck people just because they're there.". Her hand _rips_ the sheets and she's suddenly glaring daggers at me. She pushes herself off me and nearly goes tumbling to the floor. I reach to grab her arm to help her only to be met with a _hiss_ and flattened ears. It's only after she's sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from me she speaks. Her voice is thick and choked.

"I don't fuck people "because they're there". I fuck people I like.". My stomach sinks.

"I didn't mean-". She rises.

"I know damned well what you meant.". She leaves the room without even bothering to pick up her clothes. It only takes me a second to rush after her.

"I'm sorry! I just thought that-". She stops abruptly at the top of the stairs and I nearly knock her down them before stopping myself. Her voice is thick and wet to the point I can barely understand what she's saying.

"I know what you thought. And I'll tell you what I think.". She finally turns around. Her wet, cloudy eyes are streaming trails of wetness down her face and her lip is quivering even worse than when she learned she lost her arm.

"I think you need to go to the inn. I think you need to stay there and not come back. I'll leave your gold under the bed and give the innkeeper a message for you when it's ready.". An uncomfortably long, heavy silence fills the entire house.

"You don't mean that.". She shakes her head.

"I don't. I don't mean any of that, but I _know_ that's what's best for us. You've made it clear we're not friends.". She's openly sobbing now. I'd love to comfort her. Unfortunately, her last sentence has struck a cord in me and I feel some small amount of anger rear it's head inside my gut.

"We're friends. Don't you _dare_ try turning this into me saying we aren't friends.". She huffs and looks away. I take a step closer to force her to look me in the eyes again.

"Yeah, I guess we're friends. Friends always tease each other with false signals and make the other look like an idiot.".

"Come on, I-".

"I thought you wanted more.". For once, I don't mind being interrupted. Another silence fills the house.

 _Did I seem like I wanted more?_

 _Do I want more?_

I know I'd like to see where things go if we try for more, but I didn't think I was so transparent that the merchant would know. Thankfully, she explains herself. It's quiet and choked and I can barely make out the words.

"It took me a long time to work up the courage to kiss you. I wanted to ask first if it was okay or if you even liked women, but I didn't. I decided to go big and it seemed to work. I don't know how relationships work. I've never been in one. I've never even kissed someone before last night.". I find myself interrupting her.

"That can't-". The merchant returns the favor and interrupts me.

"It's true. I've never kissed anyone or held hands or even hugged anyone outside of my family for longer than a few seconds. My parents basically owned the town I lived in. I didn't get to kiss other kids or go out for dinner or try having sex. I don't know how people start relationships. I don't know how you tell someone you want to be serious with them. I don't know any of that, but I know I wanted to try with you. I kissed you to show you I wanted more and I thought you did to. I mean, I woke up naked and cuddling you. Can you blame me for thinking you felt the same?".

"No, you've got the wrong idea.". I reach for her and she recoils. I don't follow.

"I _do_ want more. I just didn't want you to think I just wanted you because of sex. I wanted something real and deep.". She stops sobbing openly, but there are still tears rolling down her face.

"Why didn't we have sex, then?". I choose my next words carefully considering the woman's never been in any sort of a relationship.

"Sex doesn't usually come first in a relationship. I would have loved to have sex with you last night. I just wanted you to be sober and to make sure it wasn't just sex for fun.". Another bout of silence overcomes us. This time, I break it.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to imply anything about you. I was just trying to tell you that I wanted something real. Normally, people who want sex in a relationship first want something casual, and I didn't want something casual.". The woman's lips are back on mine, but she pulls away almost instantly.

"Kissing?". I nod. I think we've come far enough that casual kissing is fine for our relationship. Soon enough, our kiss has lingered into a session of kisses with my hands on the merchant's hips and her hand wrapped around my neck. When we break away, the woman asks for permission for something else.

"Can I just hug you for a while? I like hugs.". I laugh and pull her in closer.

I rest my head atop hers as she angles her's so it's resting on the side of my shoulder and my chest. For a while, that's all we do. Just hug and be together. Slowly, we break away and get back to our day. We don our stolen clothes together with the Khajiit barely giving me an inch to myself to dress. Given the circumstances, I don't tell her to back off. I find my arm wrapped around her shoulder as we awkwardly jostle down the stairs together. It's far from comfortable walking wise; though, the comfort of another person's body more than makes up for it. I'm about to bring up the prospect of breakfast and a walk afterwards when there's a knock at the door.


	13. Chapter 13

The courier has two letters with him, both stamped with a beaver holding a bunch of grapes. One has the Khajiit's name written across it while the other has " _Retainer_ " in a neat scrawl across the top. I take the one meant for me while the merchant opens hers. I pause briefly to watch the woman's face as she opens the letter from her parents and reads what they've written. She cringes and winces more than a few times, and I even see her beginning to flatten her ears.

It's clear whatever her parents have written that it's painful. It's only after I realize her letter is actually several sheets of parchment tied together that I stop watching her face and begin reading the letter sent to me. The writing is neat and nice. Sadly, that's the only thing about the letter that's nice. The woman didn't even bother to remember my name.

 _My daughter's retainer,_

 _I would like to deeply apologize for any inconvenience my daughter might have caused you. Her father and I begged her for weeks not to leave. She's proven now that we were right in our fears and should have kept her home. I can't even begin to imagine the struggle of keeping our daughter alive and safe. Whether you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart or a greed for gold, rest assured you will be handsomely rewarded for all you've done for us. Our daughter is our only child and we plan on rewarding you accordingly._

 _If you have a specific reward in mind, then just tell the mercenaries and household guards that will accompany my daughter back to Morrowind, or send your request by bird if you must. You will be showered in gold and treasure to your heart's content as soon as my daughter is safely back in my arms. Truly, the only requirement I ask of you is to keep my daughter alive and in Whiterun so our hired swords can find her. If you so chose, you may accompany the band to Morrowind to receive your rewards in person. However, I feel it prudent to warn you we won't be obligated to send our mercenary band to accompany you back to Skyrim. Feel free to hire them, but the cost for an entire band is rather high. Might I suggest hiring two or three and sticking to the safer roads?_

 _Or, as I recommend, you can stay in Skyrim and we shall have our next merchant train in the area stop by and give you the rewards you so deserve. I would prefer you not loiter in the house my daughter has no doubt revealed to you is unoccupied most days, but if you must I suppose you can stay in the house as long as you require. Along with your rewards, I shall be sending a satchel of gold on an eagle as soon as he returns from his current flight. The amount sent will be more than enough to purchase food and drink for you and my daughter for however long needed._

 _The band I'm amassing for my daughter is quite large; however, they shall travel along the main roads with the quickest horses. All are competent warriors heavily armed, armored, and with dogs and horses aplenty. I've even sent a few letters along the way to allow them to change their mounts as needed at multiple stables. I've prepared meals easy to eat in the saddle and gotten enough water for both men and horses alike. The band won't rest until they arrive at Whiterun and, even then, it shall only be long enough to locate my daughter and get her mounted. My mercenaries have perfected sleeping while in the saddle and their horses trained to follow the lead horse. As long as there are two men alive, they won't need to stop to sleep, eat, or even piss with how my husband has trained them to ride._

 _My husband and I have even seen that the war won't stop them. The band is fifty strong with archers, swordsmen, and mages all. Whoever dares try to stop them shall die trying. I fear this is all I can tell you as any information about the planned route back or other information of the band heading your way could do great damage if in the wrong hands. After all, you can clearly see my husband and I are tossing all our gold at this problem and, given how low the world is becoming, I wouldn't be shocked if someone tried to ransom my child._

 _Now, to end my letter, I shall take care of some rather upsetting business. If, for some reason, you believe you can ransom my daughter yourself or exploit her in any way to get more gold from us, you better know it won't end well for you. As I will prove to you when our band arrives in Whiterun, we can purchase entire mercenary companies to hunt for those we seek. There is nowhere you can hide I cannot find you and no amount of time can elapse to make me forget if you hurt my daughter in any way. I will send assassins, mercenaries, and dozens of other highly trained specialist after you if my mercenary band arrives in Whiterun only to find my daughter dead or missing._

 _I don't care if she ran off when you weren't looking or she died because a horse ran her over or if the Nine themselves came down from the sky and commanded you to let them take my daughter away. She is now under your protection and your responsibility. You only get your reward if my daughter is returned to me and my husband alive. You only get to live in peace and retire with your riches if the mercenaries I've hired find my daughter in your care, alive, and well. If any of this criteria isn't met, then I would suggest you begin running as soon as you're done reading this letter._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Ashni_

"Your mother is quite charming.". The Khajiit is still reading her letter and raises her little finger away from the paper to tell me she's heard. It's only after she's folded her letter up and tossed it in the garbage that she speaks.

"I know, right? I think she invented three new slurs for me in my letter. Yours?".

"Oh, you know. Basic threats to kill me if you were dead, promises of rewards, and a little bit of bragging about how amazing her plan to get you back was.". She nods before wrapping her arm around my neck. I let her pepper my face with little kisses and one long, lingering kiss on my lips. Then, she goes back to the matter at hand.

"I got the same bragging part. From the way she made it sound, I think she's gotten Sotha Sil's Slavers to come for me.". I snort before realizing she's not joking.

"That's an ominous name.". She laughs and nods in agreement.

"They existed while my ancestors were being bought and sold across Morrowind. They dedicated themselves to hunting down wayward slaves and returning them to their masters. They especially aimed to get back slaves the Twin Lamps had freed, or ones who had somehow gotten away from their masters on their own.". It's clear from my face that I don't think very highly of them. At least, I'm assuming it's clear based on what the merchant says next.

"They've changed their mission since then. Now, they're just another band of mercenaries that specialize in tracking and retrieving people. They just never got around to changing their name or their joining requirement of "being a Dunmer". Trust me, they might be a little old fashioned and have a nasty history attached to their name, but part of their requirements for missions is that the target, unless a criminal being brought to justice or a minor, consents to being taken wherever they're being taken. They take half the payment up front, then the other half if the target consents and they bring them back. Otherwise, they just stop the mission and hang around where they're at until they're hired again.".

It's more than a little comforting to hear that they won't take the Khajiit back to her mother unless she consents to it. Still, it doesn't sit well with me for some reasons. I try not to let it show by distracting the woman with another kiss. She's still a little inexperienced at it, but it's nice just to have someone to kiss and, despite her issues and fangs, she's getting better. I enjoy kissing her a little bit longer before pulling back.

"How long do you think it'll take the Slavers before they get here? Your mother seemed pretty convinced she was going to get them to ride day and night without stopping to take a piss.". She smirks and shakes her head.

"She _knows_ she'll be able to get them to do that. I guess they'll be here in a week at the least and two at the most.". She leans in for another kiss, but this time I stop her. Something from the letter is hanging heavy on my mind.

"Your mother said I was free to join you on your journey back to Morrowind.". The smile spreading across her face tells me her answer before I even get the question out.

"Do you want me to head back with you when the time comes?". All she can do is nod her head in excitement. I'm about to go in for a kiss when I remember something else from the letter.

"Your mother said you were an only child.". Just like that, the mood is killed. The woman sneers and practically shoves herself away from me.

"She always does that. She'd do the same if it was my sister. She likes making people think we're more important than we are to tug at their heartstrings. Or, if she doesn't trust them, she reminds them that she has another daughter. It's a damned idiotic bargaining technique. If you actually decided you wanted to ransom me and ignore her threats, then you'd think you had more leverage than you had. More likely to get me killed if whoever has me thinks my mom only has the one kid and still isn't coughing up enough gold to appease them.". It's clear I've hit a sore spot.

"Sorry.". She shrugs.

"Not your fault. Hers more than anyone else's. I love her to death, but she's terrible when it comes to negotiations. Honestly, I was hoping my dad would be the one to get the letter. He has a stick up his ass and we get into more fights than anything else, and he's _still_ a better negotiator when it comes to me. He loves me just as much as mom. I just doubt he would have tried lying to make you think I was more important than I was.". She sighs and I see her ears beginning to droop a little.

I open my arms and she wraps hers around me. For a while, I just give her a little bit longer to find comfort in my embrace. Most of our morning has been wasted with hugging and kissing and other distractions along the way. I don't try ruining that by pointing out we haven't eaten breakfast or even gotten over our hangovers. I just stand there and allow myself to be consumed by this one glorious, comforting moment.


	14. Chapter 14

_Hundreds of Miles Away from the Khajiit and Mjoll..._

The hart was a healthy, horny one in the prime of his rut. One of the younger hunters spent all of winter learning to mimic the calls of a buck in rut screaming for a mate. We'd all shared hearty laughs about him behind his back and in our cups, but after a week in the woods without hide or hair spotted we'd all come to agree it best to give him a chance to prove himself. The damned braying and screaming he'd done didn't sound like a deer to me. The hart that came running clearly disagreed with me. The boy was hiding in a brush on the edge of the field while the rest of us waited deeper in the woods. Damned fool got ran over by the beast as the thing trampled the bush in search of his promised challenger.

It took nearly twenty arrows to get the hart to bolt away from the boy, and another ten to bring him down. Our brave boy managed to get away with a busted arm and more bruises and bumps than anyone cared to count. The hart, however, got away with dying nosily in the middle of the field until the archers had reloaded and fired even more into him. The eldest of my hired hunters examined the kill in the field and judged him to be nine or ten years of age. A Monarch stag with sixteen points evenly distributed along his horns, and six or seven years in his prime. Judging from some does hiding in the opposite edge of the forest, our kill had more than a small herd following him.

"Looks like a few lucky bucks are going to become stags tonight, boys.". They'd all laughed and shoved one another at that, but I'm sure it's because of the fact I'm paying them more than anything. Either way, it's no skin off my nose if they bray like donkeys at everything I say in the hopes of a few extra gold tossed their way. We'd thrown up a small, makeshift camp of shoddy tents in a misshapen circle at the edge of the clearing to rest for the night. My men were skinning the deer and preserving his head as the sun set when I hear the sound of hooves beating a frantic tune.

It takes only a glance at our own supply of horses to know whoever's coming isn't with us. I've risen and prepared to draw my dagger when the horse burst from the underbrush, tramples the injured boy from earlier, and successfully kicks dirt over a smoldering fire one of my men was desperately trying to get to take flame. The colt is black as night with only a diamond over his left eye to break up the darkness of his pelt. That's more than enough to tip me off to who's riding him.

"Ashni!". My beloved is still struggling to calm Blackberry when I finally make it over. I shush the colt and manage to grab his bridle. The colt tries stomping my foot and it's only by the grace of the Nine his strike doesn't land. That doesn't stop him from trying his best, though. Slowly, Blackberry calms down and Ashni slides off.

"Thank you.". I grunt to show her I've heard as I lead Blackberry over to the other horses. He's breathing heavy, covered in a thick foam of sweat, and shaking. I hand the colt off to the master of horses I brought along before returning to my wife. I swear my love is in a dreadful state: Ashni's bright, purple doeskin jerkin is ripped asunder with the fox fur lining soaked in sweat; her scarlet tights are likewise ripped to the point I can see her snowy pelt beneath; both her shoes are missing while her right foot is missing her littlest claw; and the leather belt she wears around her waist is now covered in scratches with the tiny purse that's suppose to be attached to it likewise missing completely. It's only as I'm looking at her waist I see her usually pristine, perfectly milky colored pelt is becoming pink.

I curse her as I motion for the medic, who's currently attending to the trampled boy, to come assist me. It ends up only being a small gash on her waist, but I still don't let the man leave until he's seen to it and wrapped a bandage tight around her torso. Finally, I fetch my wife some beer and bread. I don't say anything as she consumes her fill; instead, I wrap her tight in my arms. Then, after she's done, I do my best to get answers out of her. After all, we've both come to agree my monthly hunting trips once a year are best for both of us. Ashni isn't _forbidden_ per say, she's just never shown any interest in hunting.

"Have you decided to hunt with me this year? I'll admit, you made _quite_ the entrance.". I'm shoved away hard enough my chest aches. I'm preparing to hiss at her when stops me dead.

"She's alive.". My ears, halfway down in preparation of hissing, snap back up. There's no need for Ashni to say more. We've only two daughters in our life, and one is safely back at home right now lazing her day away reading or fishing or doing whatever catches her fancy at the moment. The other we assumed to have died or been lost months ago. She sent us letters from every stop she made, but they stopped after she sent one from Riften in Skyrim.

Afterwards, we'd sent letters to Riverwood and Falkreath and Whiterun all begging if a young, tiger colored Khajiit woman had sent a letter that never arrived. All of our inquiries and searching had been for naught. Finally, we'd received a letter from the Imperial army scouting regimen stationed in the Rift. They warned of a burned, abandoned wagon with a serial number registered under our company name. Neither human nor animal corpses had been found with the wreckage, so we'd held out hope some bandits or slavers had abducted our daughter. As the months passed, we began to lose hope.

That's where Ashni and I differed. Ashni was convinced that our daughter was dead and buried and rotting wherever she laid. I, on the other hand, believed our daughter simply got distracted along her journey or decided to run off and have some fun. After all, a burned carriage means nothing in times of war. An abandoned one is just as like to get set aflame as one filled with occupants. Now, it's clear I was right. I don't have a chance to ask where, how, or any other questions before Ashni continues.

"I got a raven from Whiterun. Some retainer she hired has seen her safe, but she says she's been gravely wounded along the way. They're waiting in Whiterun for Sotha Sil's Slavers to arrive. We'll have her back within a fortnight at most.". There's been a tightness in my chest and back I haven't been able to shed since news of my eldest's disappearance reached me. We never got along at the best of times, so it wouldn't surprise me if she ran away out of pure spite just to make me sweat for a few months or years. Still, I was never able to get rid of the tiny nagging voice in the back of my head that constantly warned me my wife was right and that somewhere in Skyrim my daughter was rotting in a peasant's grave. Now, without any hesitation in her voice, she's chased away all doubt in my mind she's alive.

I find my wife and I clinging to one another, sobbing. I don't remember how long we sit and cry together. The only thing I remember next is laying in my sleeping clothes in my sleeping sack with my wife curled up underneath my arm. Darkness consumes my tent as my love snuffs the candle between her fingers and holds me tight. It's only after a few minutes in total darkness that I remember something my wife said.

"What of her injury?". A long, undisturbed silence fills the air with only the whinnying of horses and the crackle of a fire to tell me the world hasn't frozen.

"She never said.". I feel my heart spasm in a panic. As a child, my daughter was thrown from her horse and dashed her head against a rock while she was riding. She'd had to sneak out after her curfew in order to ride her mare, so she hadn't brought the injury to her mother nor me for fear of retribution. It wasn't until she was slurring her words and falling asleep standing we were able to drag from her what happened. A skilled healer had cut through her skull, allowed the brain to swell beyond the confines of her head, and sewn everything back together with a steel plate in place after the swelling went down. Still, even now, she has issues when it comes to riding on ships due to the rocking and old injury combining together to destroy her balance.

I would like to say having a healer cutting through her skull taught my daughter not to hide her wounds until it's too late. I'd like to say that, but I'm not a liar. She's always hidden her hurts and aches and ills until she can't anymore. Even a week before she left, she didn't tell either of us her ear was hurting until she came bursting into our room in the middle of the night sobbing because her ear was leaking blood and puss and the pain was too much. She'd had to have the wound drained and the entire ear stuffed with gauze it was so severe. For a wound to be so terrible she not only tells us, but _writes_ to us when we can't even _see_ her?

Whatever it is, I'm bracing myself for permanent mangling and debilitating wounds. I don't say anything. My wife doesn't either. I lay in the tent with my eyes closed and focus on controlling my breathing. I feel my wife trying to do the same beside me. It doesn't matter. I lie awake in the tent, thrash and turn, and never get any closer to sleep. Ashni does the same. We rise with the sun. My men have abandoned me in the night as word has traveled from one to the other I've no intent on continuing the hunt any longer. In their place, they've left only what is mine: my tent; Blackberry and my pure white horse, Cream; and the weapons I brought with me.

A plate of roasted stag, flagon of beer, and the stag's head are all that remain that I didn't bring with me. I take my fill before getting the tent down. When my wife begins to help, we have it down and strapped to Cream within minutes. I went to sleep in white, doeskin braies and a loosely fitting nightshirt of fine purple silk that hangs to the end of my stomach. I don't bother changing into my regular clothes or armor. I don't even bother taking the stag's head with me or his antlers. Ashni and I both know we need to return home and start preparations for getting our daughter home and the celebration to follow when she arrives.


	15. Chapter 15

_Hundreds of Miles Away from Ashni and her husband..._

A low, thundering _ring_ of a bell wakes me in the middle of the night. The moonless sky offers no illumination and the candles I lit before bed have long burned away to nothing. The second _ring_ of an answering bell closer than the one before wakes the Khajiit. Her thick, slurred voice breaks the silence hanging in the air.

"Mjoll? What's happening?". I shrug my shoulders. The woman beside me is tucked underneath one of my arms, so she feels the movement. A third bell further away than either before joins in. Soon, all three are ringing their sorrow across Whiterun without rhyme or reason. That's when it finally connects in my brain what the ringing of the bells signifies.

"The jarl is dead.". A sigh reminds me that what I've said means nothing to someone from Morrowind.

"Jarl Balgruuf was the ruler of Whiterun and the surrounding hold, pledged to Queen Elisif in the war. He's ruled for years.". A fourth bell begins to sing.

"Not anymore.". I jostle the woman as she laughs at her own joke.

"It's not funny. It's actually very, _very_ bad for us.". Her laughter abruptly stops, so I continue.

"A dead jarl means a new jarl taking over. A time of uncertainty will make merchants raise their prices and guards to become more suspicious of outsiders. What do you think will happen when a bunch of mercenary Dunmer come riding up to the gates?". For a long time the only sound in the room is the echoes of the bells in mourning.

"Well, shit. Have any ideas about what we can do?". I bite my lip and mull it over. We can't leave Whiterun, obviously. The mercenaries the Khajiit's parents hired are looking for us here. We could, however, stay close to the city while leaving a note about where we are. The mercenaries and merchant's mother definitely won't be happy about it, but it's safer to leave a message with the guards' station near the gate than have the Dunmer try to enter the city. Besides, I'm a decent hunter. With my smith work and the small work the Khajiit has gotten haggling some of the expendable goods found in the home, we have enough for a bow and tent.

As far as I know, Whiterun doesn't have any laws against camping. Oblivion, I've seen five or six beggars on the street since we've gotten here. Tossing up a small tent outside the city would be safe, but I don't consider it safe enough to stay in for more than a single night. Brigands and wolves can both get inside a tent and hurt us before we could fight them off. I do my best to remember anything in the local area that might help us. I haven't been in Whiterun for a long time, so it's no surprise when I come up empty.

"I don't suppose your family has a cabin nearby they bought for passing merchants?".

"Afraid not.". Sadly, it looks like the best solution is to just warn the guards' station near the gate that they should expect a large number of Dunmer mercenaries to arrived in a week or two. I say as much to the Khajiit and she mumbles her agreement into my shoulder. With that finished, I turn my attention to another pressing matter: tomorrow. The jarl won't be prepared for his funeral by the morning, but by early afternoon he should be ready to be buried. The entire city will take to the streets as a revel in Balgruuf's honor takes place. Free food, drink and other celebratory items shall be passed out by the guards to every person in Whiterun. Unless we wish to stay inside all of tomorrow, we'll be forced to be surrounded by people celebrating.

The celebrations Nords throw involve dozens if not hundreds of people drunken off their asses, smashing everything that can be smashed, and rubbing against one another in the streets. To expose the merchant to that would be cruel. A Khajiit woman would be little more than an exotic woman to grind against. A Khajiit woman with one arm would either be seen as something to grind against, or someone to prey upon. Nord celebrations don't require stealing drinks and food from one another, but it's not nearly as fun to just stand around eating than it is to chase someone through the streets for a roll.

The poor merchant wouldn't stand a chance. Even with me beside her, she would be picked on by everyone. We could stay inside all day, but that brings up another issue for me. The merchant has been clingy and affectionate ever since I allowed her to be, so it's only gotten worse as I've allowed her to kiss me more often and for longer. An entire day alone together in a house would quickly lead to something more serious occurring. I like the Khajiit, truly, but there's still the very real fact she's missing her arm. The stitches have all fallen out and the skin has knotted over where they were in raised, red scars with fuzz barely beginning to grow around where it had to be cut off for the surgery to take place.

I don't imagine sex would reopen the wound somehow or injure her; still, I can't stop imagining how she was in the river before we reached Riverwood. She was flailing and struggling just to stand with one arm. I'd like for her to be a little more graceful before trying something that requires so much dexterity as sex. I'm certain I'll end up atop her no matter what position we start in. That doesn't mean I wouldn't appreciate her repaying the favor sometime. So, getting her out of the house is the best option for me. We just can't stay in Whiterun. Considering we just finished running from Riften to Whiterun, I don't think the woman beside me will be too keen on the idea. Thankfully, the merchant has an idea before I do.

"How about a picnic tomorrow during the funeral? I don't fancy being here when the jarl is paraded around town.". Finding a soft, grassy hill in Whiterun is like trying to find a drunk in an inn: you have hundreds of choices to choose from. I'm sure there's a basket around here somewhere and we have more than enough gold for a decent meal and some drinks.

"Sounds like a date.". A warm, furry tail wraps around my waist as the Khajiit pulls herself even closer to me.

"I like the idea of being alone with you.". I feel my face heat up and I'm thankful the woman beside me can't see.

"You're cute when you blush.". I groan. Of course, knowing my luck, the woman decided to use her ability to see in the dark to look at me. I do my best to sound lighthearted and fun as I politely disentangle myself from her in order to roll onto my stomach to sleep.

"I always forget you're a large kitty who can see in the dark.". I feel her move closer so our shoulders are brushing.

"Not my fault if you don't notice the fur.". Silence consumes us as the bells continue to sing their song of mourning throughout the night. Even the funeral bells can't distract me from the warm, soft body pressed up against mine. Even in this awkward position, it's hard to sleep with my loins burning.

* * *

The hill we find is beautiful and perfect for our needs. A slow moving stream is in front of us at the bottom of the hill, a mountainous pass is fifty feet to our left, and the stone path back to Whiterun is only ten or so feet to our right. A saber-toothed cat is drinking from the stream when we arrive. His thick, fluffy pelt is growing out in preparation for winter and he's already fattened up from a good autumn of deer running. An arrow I sent to land next to his paw is enough to startle him away from the water, and a second arrow to the thigh is more than enough to send him running up the embankment on the other side of the river into whatever awaits him beyond.

The animal was only drinking from the stream; even so, I prefer him far, far away from us rather than close. After all, there's not much I can do if he came running at us. As I've been chasing off the large cat, the Khajiit has been setting up our picnic as best as she can. The thick, woolen blanket we brought along with us is spread out. However, she's had trouble getting the food and drinks out from the basket. I lift the lid to help her along. A rack of lamb smothered in a light sauce made of wine, a few rolls wrapped in cheesecloth, and an apple pie all come out with ease. The watermelon is what stops her and forces her to ask me for assistance.

Afterwards, I let the woman relax while I get the food ready and pull the skins of beer and wine we brought with us out from the basket. The sun is shining, a nice cool breeze is blowing from the north, and the smell of late autumn leaves is filling the air from some trees atop the mountain ahead of us where the saber-toothed cat disappeared. The merchant relaxes on the blanket with her face towards the sun and her whiskers lightly twitching. I let her relax even when the food and drink are both ready.

My friend reminds me of an actual cat as she lounges in the sun in her ill fitting clothes. I make a mental note to take her shopping soon for clothes that aren't stolen. Slowly, I find myself reclining beside her. Soon, the woman's found her way under my arms again. My own ill fitting clothes aren't exactly ideal to the situation considering whenever I lie down my shirt lifts away from my pants and reveals my stomach. I'm far less than surprised when a warm, fuzzy hand finds its way underneath my shirt. I allow it as I fish around for a skin of wine or ale. I manage to grab a skin of wine and take a few sips before passing it to the merchant.

"I don't want to move my hand.". Come to think of it, I don't want her to move her hand either. I bring the skin to her lips and slowly tilt it until she's drank her fill. Sex might be off the table, but some groping and fun isn't.

I don't know how long we sit there drinking and eating with me feeding the Khajiit. Eventually, the food and drink runs dry and we're left alone with only each other. Within minutes, the merchant is atop me with her lips securely locked to mine and her single hand underneath my shirt. I'd scold her for it if my own hands weren't currently searching for the bindings around her breast. I find the knot before she finds mine, so the woman atop me is the first to shed her shirt and breast bindings. I've seen her naked before, but it's only now I'm truly able to appreciate how much she truly looks like a tiger.

A white stomach and chest fading to orange around the edges with black stripes cutting through the orange like tiny streams before stopping at the edge of the white. Casually, I run my thumbs along her stomach. Thankfully, her stomach doesn't have any hidden nipples and it's only the two pink buds on her tits that wait for me. The fur obscures them somewhat, though I can still see them through the fur when I turn my head a certain way. I'm about to cup her tits when a low, deep growl interrupts me.


	16. Chapter 16

_A Few Inches from Mjoll..._

The terrier harrying me and Mjoll is a small, wiry coated thing with legs long enough for a dog twice his size and a tail ending in a stump. Mjoll recoiled when the tiny hound started baying at us, but I hadn't for good reason. My father owns an entire pack of terrier hounds he takes hunting with him. The small, bay colored dog before me is a little thicker of shoulder and sturdier of waist; otherwise, he's the same as the ones I oft found shitting outside my bedroom door at home. I'd sent my father's off with kicks and curses more than I care to admit given their preference for jumping at whatever plate I was carrying at the moment and ability to slither past me in the two seconds it took to open my bedroom door to harass my cat. The one currently barking his little head off at me isn't my father's, though.

He's keeping his distance and looks more likely to lose his voice baying than attack us. A rusty, dented metal jerkin around his torso tells me his owner probably isn't going to return for him anytime soon. I lash out with my one remaining hand as quick as I can. I've lost my ability for anything that requires fine motor skills. Luckily, grasping a dog's tail and hauling him into the air isn't a "fine motor skill". Instantly, the terrier quiets as I lift him to look at him from multiple points of view. Sure enough, the dog is starving and there's a nasty wound on his back right leg. Mjoll edges closer to me to ask me the question I feared she would.

"Any idea if we can get him to lead us to his owner?". I shake my head while putting the little terrier down. The tiny dog bolts down to the river and begins sniffing where the saber-toothed cat was a few minutes ago.

"You want my opinion? It's dour.".

"Tell me.". I motion to where the terrier is trying to scale the opposite embankment to where the large cat disappeared. The dog always gets halfway up before it becomes too steep for him and he tumbles back down, so I have no fear of him successfully chasing the predator while I talk to Mjoll.

"His owner was most like hunting a saber-toothed cat. Bastard you chased off probably killed the owner and gave the dog a parting gift of that gash on the back of his leg. Considering his size, I'd say that's more than lucky. Little bugger probably started up the scent again as soon as he calmed down. The scent led here and, sure enough, to his little doggy brain there was a big cat nearby. Clearly, I'm the saber-toothed cat.". Mjoll tenses as the dog manages to get a third of the way up the hill, but she settles as soon as he's sent spinning back into the river.

"So, the dog was going to _bark_ the saber to death?".

"Terriers aren't meant to hunt large game. They're meant to chase down rabbits and foxes and catch them long enough their owners can put a bolt through them.". I break off talking to let out a long, loud whistle. The terrier is at me in an instant. It's only after I've convinced Mjoll to shove the dog down my shirt and tie him up in my breast bindings that I take the metal jerkin off him and abandon it in the river. The stinky, soaking wet dog shares his love with me in the form of kisses as Mjoll and I begin searching the area together. My stump is aching, the saber-toothed cat is near, and I have a dog licking at my face. The very last place in the whole wide world I wish to be is here. However, if there's a body nearby it couldn't hurt to find it. Unfortunately, it's me that finds the man.

What remains of him is a bloody, twisted torso so mauled and torn I mistake it for a deer at first. It's only after the terrier whimpers and tries breaking loose I see a human skull far, far away from where the torso lies. The corpse is torn into large pieces with blood smearing the area in a four foot by four foot square. A metallic, cooper smell permits the air and settles heavy on the back of my tongue. Mjoll can do little more than kick the chunks together and grab a few small rocks nearby to make a cairn.

I'm sure the cairn will be cracked open by the saber-tooth as soon as we leave and he's stopped running after the arrow falls out of him. That doesn't mean it's not the right thing to do for the person. If I'd died somewhere along the way to Whiteurn, then I'd like someone to make a cairn for me even if it just lasted an hour. As Mjoll establishes the cairn, I decide to bring the expertise I have to the table. My hand might be missing, but that doesn't mean I didn't waste every hour of my childhood studying every form of fauna and flora life I could.

"Sabers attacking humans this close to a city is a bad sign.". Mjoll agrees.

"Thicker pelts on cattle and sabers showing their faces always means a worse winter than normal is coming. The village I use to live in would have five or six saber pelts before winter started on a bad year. Even more reason to get you home.". Just like that, any chance of salvaging the romantic mood is gone. Mjoll is right that a harsher, fast approaching winter means scarcer game and more desperate bandits on the roads. Even with a mercenary company protecting me, it only takes one stray arrow or a week of starvation coupled with a chill to put an end to me.

"How about you go home with the dog?". It's only now I realize Mjoll is done and talking to me.

"What?".

"Why don't you go home and get the dog taken care of? I want to stay out a little longer and see if I can't find that saber. He's a threat to everyone nearby. I'd like to give him a swift death before the locals beat him to death with sticks.". The idea of Mjoll hunting such a large predator by herself is concerning. The idea of me going with her, however, is even more concerning for me. My new courter is a warrior while I'm a merchant. Leaving her to hunt and kill seems safest, so I consent and let the woman begin her hunt. I wait until she's climbed the other side of the dip across the river before turning back to Whiterun.

Along the way, my new terrier almost breaks free when a fox bolts across the road, my ill fitting trousers split as I try to contain him, and the guards both briefly detain me before I cross both their palms with some copper coins I have on my person. I'd like nothing more than to visit the market and find some better fitting pants along with a new shirt and undergarments, but the celebration's wake has made sure I can't.

Broken bottles, people's clothes, and garbage clog the streets like a dam. It's all I can do to hop over vomit and avoid glass in the short walk to the home Mjoll and I are briefly sharing. Thankfully, the lock isn't busted and there isn't even a hint of someone trying to force entry. The fire and candles I lit before we left have all drowned in their own wax, plunging the room into darkness. I release the hound from his temporary prison before going about feeling for a candle. I know a basic flame spell I can use with only one hand.

I call the spell to mind as I pour the wax from the first candle I find onto the floor, then cup my hand around the newly revealed wick. The fire pricks through my veins until escaping to my palm. My hand is kissed by heat as I jerk away from the now lit candle. I take the candle in hand and go about finding the others. It's only when all the candles scattered around the living area are lit that I move onto the fire. A few stacked logs with kindling and a flame spell is all it takes to have a large, crackling fire to chase away the chill. The terrier has already made himself at home and curled up underneath one of the chairs beside the fire. Finally, there's nothing left save for my thoughts.

I find myself unwillingly pulling the letter my mother wrote me from my pocket once again. There's a deep love between me and my mother than distance and absence have only made stronger. There's a missing part of myself hundreds of miles away in Morrowind without any way for me to reach. Skyrim and Mjoll and getting to be on my own have all been an amazing, fun experience. That doesn't lessen the ache in my heart to see my family again. Which, in a way, only makes my longing for Mjoll worse. I've always gotten attached too easily and Mjoll is no different. Already, I want nothing more than her to lay claim to me.

I know it's unrealistic to expect the woman to stay around purely because she bedded me. That doesn't stop me from wanting to have her fuck me in the hope it'll keep her closer. Each step of the journey, I've imagined Mjoll was going to abandon me the second she got her gold. Her telling me she's willing to follow me all the way to Morrowind to make sure I arrive safely has awoken something inside me. A burning, growing desire to be with her. If I can just get her interested in me a little more, then by the time I'm home maybe Mjoll will want more. Maybe she'll even want to marry me. The note crinkles as I tighten my grip on it. My eyes roam over the paragraph that keeps consuming my mind.

 _I love you. I love so much it hurts. I'm sorry, but once you return your father and I will resume our inquiry into House Dres. The firstborn heir is already married, but Grandmaster Dram has a crippled second son widowed while you were away and a fifth, sixth and ninth son never married. If need be, then I fear you'll need to promise yourself to his twelfth son currently at the breast. His second son is in high demand by the other Great Houses, but it's said Dram's fifth and ninth son both favor women of the beast races. We'd wanted to convince them of your sister's worth, yet Dram insist even his twelfth son is worth a firstborn merchant._

 _Rest assured, I'll do my best to assure you have the second son, but please be understanding. Bearing a child even to the twelfth son of the current Lord of House Dres is a great honor. If you're lucky, your husband might even rise to lordship should his two married brothers perish before having children. Even more incentive for you to return home at once. The two married sons are doing their best to have sons and be named second heir. I know there's no love in you for Dunmer or arranged marriages, but please consider the offer you'd be turning down. Nobles war and bicker among themselves constantly and your husband, even a twelfth son, has a chance to inherit his house. And, bringing forth a child for your husband shall earn his love. All are kind, handsome men. Please, don't make this difficult._

My mother couldn't have chosen a worse time to announce her intent to marry me off to a Grandmaster. I'm sure it's a ploy to keep me safe, but the house she's trying to sell me off to is House Dres. The ancient house used slaves for generations including after slavery was legally outlawed. I'm sure whatever fetish the Dunmer sons have for me isn't pleasant. However, it's an easy marriage to avoid. After all, not even a Grandmaster can marry a woman already wed to another.


	17. Chapter 17

Note: For reasons which will become clear later on in the story, I've decided to make Mjoll have a dick in this particular story of mine. Personally, I've always kinda wanted her to be trans, but I know that some people may not feel the same way. So, here's your warning. Honestly, the only issue I really have regarding this is the fact I didn't think of it sooner and add hints and details throughout the story.

Also, since the note is up here, I'm announcing that "A New Order" will now be updated weekly on Saturdays while "Merchants Among Mercenaries" will be updated every three days. I'll begin "Caesar's Daughter" and it will be updated every three days along with "Merchants Among Mercenaries". After "A New Order" is wrapped up, which should only take a month or two with the pace it's going, I will begin updating "Shadow Over Denerim" weekly in place of "A New Order".

* * *

 _A Few Feet from the Khajiit..._

The saber's pelt is still dripping blood and bits of flesh still cling to it. Carrying it from the mountainous pass where I slew it all the way back to Whiterun was more work than I care to admit, but it'll be worth it to see the look on the merchant's face. Claws, teeth, and eyes all still intact, this rug should be worth hundreds of gold. Even with the gold her mother sent us, there's always the concern of running out before help can arrive. Now, she won't have any doubt in her mind we'll be living the high life until her mother's retainers arrive. I have the pelt slung over my back and its head resting atop mine with its jaws wide open to let me see out it, so I find myself struggling with the door when I finally arrive. Briefly, I consider knocking to wake the Khajiit up and have her open the door for me.

I decide to let her sleep and continue trying to fiddle the door open. I've almost gotten the key into the lock when I hear a _click_ from inside and the door swings open. The woman is nude as the day she was born with only a thin piece of cloth she's clutching to her bosom giving her the slightest bit of decency. I avert my eyes and mumble an apology while she takes a few steps backwards to allow me inside. The hooks the merchant used to butcher our donkey that got us here are empty and the blood wiped away. It's almost a shame to hang the pelt from a hook and let the blood pool on the floor once again. Shockingly, I'm about to remove the pelt for myself when a single hand comes to rest on my shoulders. The skin is taken off me and hung to dry on the nearest hook.

"Thank you, I appreciate-". The words die in my mouth when I finish turning to the Khajiit. The cloth she was holding to her bosom has been forgotten on the floor as she searches for a bucket to catch some of the blood still leaking onto the floor. There's a bucket a few feet to her right, but for some reason I can't find it in myself to tell her where she'll find it. The woman finds it soon enough and I'm more than thankful for it when she bends over rather than kneeling to reach the bucket. Another bend to put it underneath the new pelt is all the incentive I need.

My shirt has a large tear in it from the saber that makes it even easier to shed without taking my eyes away from the woman's ass. She's barely risen when I wrap my arms around her and pull her ass to my hips. A pleased purr rumbles through her chest as her hand rises to find the back of my head. Kissing over her shoulder is a little awkward at best, though we manage it. I'm not sure why she was naked or what she was planning on doing, and in this moment I couldn't care less. The woman before me is naked, willing, and easy on the eyes. I'd be a damned fool not to ravage her.

I release the woman only to take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. The merchant giggles as she I lead her upstairs. It's only when we're in the bedroom with the door closed I let the woman kiss and nuzzle against me. For a short while, kissing and touching and playing with one another standing against a door is fantastic. Then, the throbbing between my legs becomes too much and I know I need to start getting the woman to take me. I take her shoulders in my hands and pull back to whisper a question to her.

"Rough?". She groans back the word I just said as her answer. I shove her onto the bed and earn a moan from her. I'm stripping off my pants when I see the woman's hand is busy between her thighs.

"Don't.". The woman groans, but does as I say and moves her hand away from her cunt.

"What's your experience?".

"None.". Some would be excited to be a woman's first. I'm not. An inexperienced lover only puts more pressure on me, and I'm sure her nervousness at being taken for the first time will make it harder for me to open her up. Even the most willing of maids always becomes a little tense when they finally get a cock against their entrance and lips on their tits. Still, I continue sliding off my pants. The merchant being inexperienced isn't going to stop me from taking her like she deserves.

I slide my undergarments away and my halfway hard cock is freed. For a brief moment, I hesitate when I remember I hadn't told the woman I had a dick between my thighs. If the woman is disappointed she doesn't show it. I kneel beside her and pull her thighs around my ears and do the best I can with my mouth. The merchant is soaked for me. A testing lick from asshole to clit gets a groan from her and, soon after, suction on her clit has her hand twined in my hair. My cock is throbbing and begging for a sheath, but I hold off for now in favor of getting her ready. I focus on her clit while sliding a finger inside her. The woman can take two easily enough, but the third is tight enough I take it out only halfway in. Quiet moans and tugs on my hair are the encouragements I need to keep working her open.

I gently slide my two fingers as deep as they can get, then begin slowly scissoring them while moving them in and out. I release the pressure on her clit and allow slower, short licks focused on it to get her use to it. It's only when I can stretch her far enough to get three fingers in that I pull back. My face is drenched and her essence is dripping down my chin, but I pay it no mind. I slide up the woman's body and lock our lips. I still have a long way to go if I want her to be relaxed and comfortable enough to take my length. The merchant said she likes it rough. Sadly, I'm not taking a virgin at her word. A few minutes of kissing, gently exploring her body, and letting her explore mine is as far as I can get before the woman is shoving me upwards and pushing me onto my back.

"Be careful. Don't do anything you don't think you can do.". I earn a roll of her eyes from that, then a kiss to the tip of my cock. Sadly, the Khajiit can get little more than my head between her lips before her inexperience shows. She's unaccustomed to spreading her jaws so wide and the best she can do is slobber on my head and down my length. Any lube is good lube, so I let her go crazy wetting my dick and offering tentative licks whenever she can.

"Hand.". She takes the hint and wraps her hand around what she can't take in her mouth and starts pumping. I bring my own hand down and move hers to my balls. The merchant is more than happy to caress my sack while I take over pumping myself. My hand spreads the spit up and down my prick. I'd prefer some olive oil to make it easier, but getting up and finding some is the last thing I want right now. I let the woman drool on my length a little more before she has an idea I'm more than happy to indulge. She moves my hand from my sack and eagerly takes the flesh she can fully fit into her mouth. I pump myself and let the warm suction around my balls consume me. It's only when I feel myself reaching the edge I pull away.

"Are you ready?". She nods and practically tosses herself onto her back with her legs wide.

"You're sure?". The woman groans and grabs me with her hand. I position her ankles at my hips and spread her knees as far apart as I can get them using my elbows. First, I test her with my hand. Four fingers disappear inside her with ease and I'm sure, with a little work and preparation, she could take my fist. More than enough room to accommodate my prick. I guide my head to her entrance and prepare to make sure, one last time, that she's okay.

"Are you-". I hiss as the woman's feet slide from my shoulders to my hips and pull me in. The slide in is easy until about halfway where my thickness becomes too much. The merchant groans and I move her ankles back to my hips for a wider opening. Her wet, warm embrace is wonderful enough I nearly begin rutting into her like a hound with a bitch. Instead, I bring the Khajiit's own hand to her clit. She begins working at it without any other instruction. I pull myself out until just my head is inside her, then, slowly, push myself back in. I get a little deeper than I was the last time. I build up a steady, slow rhythm to allow the woman below me to get use to my cock. It's only when our hips are touching I feel comfortable enough going further.

"Can I-". My question doesn't even escape my lips before the woman hisses her consent. Her hand is already moving quick enough it must hurt. I help her along. I pull out until just my head is in and thrust back in like I've been doing, but this time I do it quicker and with less pause. I keep a steady rhythm up until the merchant and I are slamming our hips together and she's practically burning her clit off. It's been too long since I've been with a woman, and even longer since I've been with someone with a cunt between their thighs. The tight, pulsing embrace around my dick is one I've missed. Soon enough, the merchant and I are focused on our own pleasure. The Khajiit slams her hips up to meet mine and I slam mine down to meet hers. Both of us are in a rapid frenzy with any rhythm long forgotten.

I'm still slamming into her when a groan comes from the merchant and she freezes up. The pulsing of her cunt increases and I start pounding her even harder. Her orgasm passes and I begin slowing in preparation of pulling out and finishing myself off. A whispered "no" is all it takes to send me back into my frenzy. The woman groans and cringes as I keep going. I'm about to pull out and spill on her stomach when her legs trap me.


	18. Chapter 18

"Awkward" doesn't even begin to describe the atmosphere after our coitus is done. The Khajiit's thighs, the sheets, and my own groin are all stained with my seed. Fucking the Khajiit after I'd already came inside her was arousing in concept, but more messy than anything in action. I can't think of anything to say, so I rise in favor of getting a wet washrag for the merchant. It's easy enough finding a washrag lying around; though, it takes more than a few dunks in water to get the bloodstains out of it. I'm tempted to wash myself first, and it's only the thought of the Khajiit laden with child that makes me return to the merchant.

What greets me is a naked bed with my lover beside it cleansing herself of me on the already messy sheets. She's managed to clean her thighs and vulva of me. Now, she's sitting on the sheets and allowing whatever is left of my seed to slowly drip out of her. I wash myself with the rag before tossing it onto the ruined sheets. The merchant neither looks at nor acknowledge me.

"I'll wash the sheets tomorrow.". She nods to show she's heard, but nothing else.

 _Might as well put all my cards on the table._

"Why didn't you let me pull out?". The woman wraps her arm around herself and shrugs. All I can do is sigh. Most likely, she just got caught up in the moment and thought it would be sexy to let me cum inside of her instead of on her stomach.

"Can Nords get Khajiit pregnant?".

"The East Empire Company merchants had some bastards with the Khajiit slaves of Morrowind in the third era, but they were rarer than the bastards made with Dunmer.". I love the Khajiit to some extent, and she's an amazing friend. That doesn't mean I'm in any way willing to get her pregnant. Her mother would skin me alive if her daughter came home with my bastard in her belly. Besides, I'm sure her mother would like to get to know me before I announce I've gotten her daughter pregnant. Still, I can't ignore the risk we've both taken. I try as delicately as I can offer her some extra protection.

"Do you want me to get you a potion or herb or anything?". She shakes her head and, finally, makes eye contact with me. Her eyes aren't watery and she doesn't look nearly as upset or sad as I imagined she would. Instead, she just looks tired.

"No, I'll be fine. I'll get it tomorrow if I think I need it.". I leave it at that and make up the stripped bed as best I can. Soon enough, the merchant is cuddled up beside me in my arms. We don't speak any more of what happened when we fucked, and a part of me is thankful for that. I love her as much as I'm capable of. That doesn't mean she wants to be burdened with my child or be stuck with me the rest of her life. Love, after all, doesn't solve everything.

* * *

 _A Hundred Feet from Mjoll..._

The women on my mother's side are notoriously fertile. My mother became pregnant with me after almost immediately after marrying my father, and my sister is less than a year younger than me. Unfortunately, my mother married another Khajiit. I don't know how likely I am to get pregnant by a woman of another race, so I'm not taking any chances. I love Mjoll and I _need_ to be with her. My mother's selling me off like a cow at auction because she thinks I can't take care of myself. Showing up at home pregnant will not only show my mother I have someone strong to protect me that also loves me, but it means nobody will ever marry their son to me.

Having a bastard is one thing if you're a man since you can always deny the child is yours and there's no real way to prove you wrong. As a woman, it'll be hard to argue that the child that came out of me isn't mine. And, luckily, Mjoll is a Nord which means my mother can't try to hide my pregnancy and pass off the child that comes out as my husband's. The only part of my plan I haven't worked out is the part where I eventually have to tell Mjoll I'm pregnant with her child. I've never even discussed the possibility of a child with her. In fact, the whole idea of intending to get pregnant without her knowing is leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

If my mother wasn't threatening to marry me off as soon as I get home, I wouldn't even indulge the idea of trying to get pregnant. As it is, I have no other option. I hardly waste any time after Mjoll has left to hunt. It's clear she wants some space for herself right now, so I'm free to dress at my leisure and head down to the local marketplace. Thick, heavy storm clouds are in the sky and creating a premature night over Whiterun when I finally leave home.

I hurry my steps as I realize Mjoll might cut her hunting trip short. The streets are empty and most of the shops have their lanterns signifying they're open snuffed out. It's pure luck the apothecary still has its lantern lit. The shop is small and cramped with herbs and vials and jars all lining the walls and dozens of tables littering the floor. I manage to weave my way to the desk just in time to have the woman who runs the store emerge from the back.

"I'm sorry, but I'm closing soon. If you know what you want I can give it to you, but no browsing.". My mother told me as soon as I became fertile the best emmenagogues herbs to use to ensure pregnancy.

"I just need Angelica venenosa flowers, please.". The woman offers me a smile as she searches for the flowers and begins putting them in a sack for me.

"Congratulations! I hope it takes.". I've always found it rather odd to congratulated someone on having sex, but I hold my tongue. I slide the woman a few gold from the flowers before leaving. Mjoll still hasn't returned by the time I'm home, so I boil some water and put the flowers in to make an unappetizing tea. I filter the flowers from the water and toss the soggy remains into the smoldering fire still going from before Mjoll left. The tea is bitter and pungent, but I drink it all down. I've been dripping Mjoll's seed all day and it's vital to get myself menstruating if I want to insure a pregnancy. I've swallowed the last sip when I hear someone walk by the door. Another fucking would be good now that I drank the tea, so I rise in preparation of jumping Mjoll as soon as she gets inside.

Unfortunately, whoever it is keeps walking and it isn't Mjoll. The best I can do now is just tighten my legs to keep Mjoll's seed inside me for as long as I can. I don't know how close my mother's retainers are, and I want to be as pregnant as possible when my mother sees me for the first time. At best, I'll only be around two months pregnant. The smallest bump will be the only physical sign of my pregnancy that I couldn't fake. I'll need to convince my mother to put off whatever wedding she has planned for another month to show her I truly am pregnant.

A familiar sense of dread causes my throat to tighten and my heart to begin racing. My husband will divorce me when I pop out a Nord child, but in the meantime I'm sure he'll put an end to Mjoll seeing me.

 _I have to tell her._

There's no way around it.

 _I have to tell her and pray she doesn't think less of me._

As is on cue, the door unlocks and Mjoll pushes her way inside. She has a rabbit dangling from her belt and three fish in hand. She's soaked and the gentle _tap_ of rain on the roof I've been ignoring since now tells me why. Her face is plastered in the goofiest smile I've ever seen that disappears the instant she lays eyes on me.

"What's wrong?". Her face falls even more.

"Was it about last night?". I motion for her to take a seat beside where I'm seated. Mjoll puts her fish and rabbit down by the fire pit as she takes her seat in the slowly darkening room. I swallow past the lump in my throat and start at the beginning.

"The letter my mother sent me wasn't the same as yours. I lied because I didn't want you to worry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry and I should have told you instead of lying and-". I'm cut off by a rough, callous hand taking my one remaining hand. I look up into Mjoll's eyes as my vision goes blurry. Her expression is soft with concern roughing up the edges.

"Hey, it's okay. You can tell me anything.". I tell her everything.

* * *

 _A Foot from the Khajiit..._

Some primal, animal part of me enjoys the idea of the Khajiit swelling with my child. The intelligent part of my mind realizes how much of a commitment a child is and the fact bringing another living, individual human being into this world is a giant process that'll continue for the rest of our lives. The idiot side of my brain is winning at the moment because I'm hard and imagining filling her with my seed again. It's only the prospect of the merchant being married off as soon as she gets home that keeps me in a more focused state of mind.

"There's no chance your mother will reconsider?". She shakes her head. Already, her tears are flowing freely.

"She doesn't know about your arm. Is it possible that makes you less eligible?". She shakes her head again.

"My arm doesn't have anything to do with my ability to have children.". I glance at the empty cup my lover used to drink her tea while I was gone.

"Do you need more tea tomorrow? Is there anything else we can do to make it more likely you'll get pregnant?". She nods and doesn't waste any time.

"I can drink the tea daily, but we need to try as often as we can before my mother's retainers get here. Pregnancy and marriage are the only things that would make me unacceptable as a marriage prospect.".

"Alright, we have a plan. Sex as often as possible and, tomorrow morning, I'll go and buy all the plants you need to make sure it takes.". She offers me the sweetest smile I've ever seen.

"On one condition.". Her smile is wiped away.

"Do you _want_ this baby? Do you want this baby _with me_? Because I like the idea of kids. Never thought I'd have them this young, but I guess there's no time like the present. And, I love you,". She blushes beneath her pelt as I continue. "You know I love you. And, I'll love whatever kid we have. I just want to make sure you want this. If you don't, then tell me now so I don't start thinking of baby names and a few months from now you tell me you want to terminate the pregnancy or give the kid away once they're out.". She doesn't even hesitate.

"I do.".


	19. Chapter 19

_A Mile from Mjoll and the Merchant..._

My destrier is covered in lather and foaming at the mouth when we finally see the distant lights of Whiterun. We were given strict orders to not unsaddle until we arrived outside the gates of Whiterun. The raw, scarlet callouses on my palms and the blood still leaking from my thighs attest to how faithfully we followed our employer's wishes. A few of our temporary mounts have fallen along the way and one man tripped on his way to take a piss and cracked his head on a rock; otherwise, our journey has been uneventful. Even with the war raging, our band of warriors and mages is more than enough to deter the warring armies from halting our passage or chasing us off. Now, the hard part of our journey begins.

An unarmed merchant is the biggest burden we have to carry, but there's also another unknown "warrior" that's going to head back with us. If the woman's truly a warrior or not I haven't the faintest idea, so for all I know she's going to be an even worse burden than the woman we're getting paid to bring back. Even if she ends up being able to carry her own weight, we still only have enough rations to see us all back safely within two weeks. If a storm should halt us or a sickness take one of our horses, then the one extra mouth might make the difference between life and death.

"Cas!". My second in command rides up beside me with his chainmail clinking all the way. Cas was a thin, scrawny man before our march westward began, and this hard riding has only made his skinnier and sharper. The others have called him "Weasel" for as long as he's been with us, but it's only now he actually looks like his nickname. His starving, pale mare likewise shares her rider's appearance of a varmint. Which is part of the reason I need Cas.

"Take the men to the stables and change our mounts for new ones. Be mounted and have the merchant's horses ready when I get back. I want us to leave as soon as possible. Tell the men to piss and eat while they can.". Cas grunts and turns his mare back around. Within seconds, I hear my commands being yelled as my man rides down the line. I give my horse a strong kick to break away from the others.

It's only when I pass the stables I slow to a trot, and I don't slow to a walk until I see the gates. No guards are present and the torches beside the doors are burning low. I tie my horse outside before checking to see if the giant gates are unlocked. Luckily, the doors swing open without fuss and I'm allowed entrance into Whiterun. The streets are dim and slick with rain from earlier, but I was given instructions on which house to go to and who to look for.

The small, wooden homestead is barely two stories high and a soft, comforting light is still burning in the windows. I knock as hard and quick as I can to rouse whoever is inside. When my knock isn't answered, I repeat it. A mumbled curse comes from inside and multiple bangs and cracks resound from inside. I'm growing worried when the door opens. A young, bright Khajiit stands with a candle in her one remaining hand. Her orange pelt is striking, especially the fluffy mane around her head, and black stripes cut through the color like little dark rivers. White around her muzzle and down her neck is the only trait I've seen in either of her parents. If it wasn't for her unusually long ears and fangs I'd mistake her for a bastard of Ashni's rather than a true born daughter. The fangs and ears are pure Ombar.

"Sotha Sil's Slavers, hopefully?". That's all I need to know the woman before me is indeed the one I was sent to retrieve. I offer a bow that sends my braid over my shoulder and my chainmail shirt down further on my chest. I've dealt with nobility and merchants my entire life, and I know how they want to be treated.

"My lady, my men are down at the stables making sure your horse is saddled and ready. Are you prepared for the journey?". The Khajiit calls over her shoulder and another woman joins her in the doorway. The Nord's hair is cut close to the scalp and thick, freshly applied blue warpaint is covering half of her face. The clothes she's wearing are worthy of little more than a beggar, but the cloth is stretched taunt across her chest and her biceps are straining against the material. Clearly, the Nord is the only reason the merchant isn't dead. The merchant might look like a tiger, that doesn't mean I can't see her flab or complete lack of muscles.

"I take it you're the mercenary I was warned might tag along?". Her brows furrow at the word "warned" and she's not even trying to hide the contempt I see in her. Nords have never been fond of Dunmer, and the recent evacuation of Dunmer refugees has gotten tensions between the two species even worse. I'm sure being surrounded by a group of Dunmer mercenaries armed to the teeth will ease her fears.

"Yes, I'm the mercenary. The one responsible for making sure my friend here makes it back home alive.". Wonderful, a mercenary with a code of honor I'm sure she won't be willing to break. And, apparently, she's befriended the woman I have to bring back. Judging by how closely they're standing and the fact they're almost holding hands, I take it the merchant also thinks of the Nord as a friend. Now, the Nord will have more power than I care to admit.

Getting my employer's daughter back as quickly as possible means she needs to be happy and willing to do whatever is necessary. Keeping her happy and letting her be the boss means she'll be fine when it comes time to push our horses faster or forego a meal or two. Keeping her happy now means keeping the Nord happy. So, there goes any chance of convincing the Khajiit to let us poach or steal some horses.

We've been assured we'll have fresh mounts at every stable on the way back and that our provisions should hold. That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to pick up some more food just to be safe or get a fresh horse to be able to butcher the one I was currently riding. I'm sure the Nord has a strict code of honor and morals she'll follow to the letter. Sadly, there's no way to possibly get rid of her when it's clear the Khajiit and her are close.

"The pleasure is mine.". Another bow to the Nord seems to sate her wounded pride.

"Please, follow me. I assure you you'll both have fresh mounts and be returned safely to Morrowind.". I turn and leave with the confidence the two will follow. My confidence is well rewarded when I hear the Khaiit make a joke to the mercenary halfway out of Whiterun.

"I mean, he'll return us safely to the most dangerous province.". Two shared snickers follow the joke. It's only as I'm holding the gate open for them that my target acknowledges me.

"I never got your name.".

"Azar, please.". The Nord keeps walking while the Khajiit takes a second to rest her hand on my shoulder and make another offer.

"I'm sure my mother has asked you to send a rider ahead to tell her of our approach. I have another satchel of gold for you if you fail to mention the fact her daughter is missing an arm.". I've seen Ashni and Ombar's youngest daughter, but the eldest was always elusive.

I was told what to expect when her parents described her to me, but when I asked for any distinguishing features such as scars, tattoos, or birthmarks I was told only of a birth pink birthmark she had on the back of her skull. No missing limbs were mentioned. It seems like a poor parent to not mention their child is missing a limb, but it's always possible they decided not to tell me or completely forgot and/or assumed I'd seen her enough times to remember she was missing an arm. Now, it's confirmed to me the woman left home with two arms and is coming back with one.

"Alright, I'll keep your secret on one condition.". The woman nods eagerly. I can't keep my eyes from wandering to where the Nord disappeared.

"How did you lose your arm?". She smiles.

"Why, some pigs ate it after someone had the poor sense to toss it into their pen.".

* * *

 _Hundreds of Miles from Azar..._

The ledgers in front of me are promising high profits as soon as our ship returns to port and our traveling caravans send in their monthly fees for using our name to sell their goods. High enough profit I can pay the Slavers more than enough of what was promised for the safe return of my daughter. I hate giving the men more than what I promised them, but I feel the circumstances are dangerous enough they deserve more than normal. After all, riding through a war to bring back a missing child is worth more gold that the usual cost of riding to Whiterun and back. I could have told my daughter to stay there until the winter has passed and the war has calmed down in the Rift; however, the house has felt empty without her and my heart aches to see her face again.

Even her one letter wasn't enough to satisfy my need to see her again. In a way, I regret ever letting her leave. The sigil on our business is a beaver. Beavers leave their families at two years of age and live the rest of their possibly twenty year lifespan away from their parents. Both Ashni's family and my own family have large families that haven't left home. Rather we stay with our parents and have children, then when our parents pass we take over in their place and our children will have children of their own. That's how it's always been.

I move my ledgers aside and see the paper I'm waiting to show Ashni. It's what will put everything right and make our family whole again. The Lord of House Dres has accepted our proposal even better than we'd hoped. His second son has agreed to marry our daughter on the condition she be ready to marry as soon as she returns. My daughter always talked about wanting to have a family later in life. Now, she'll just have to deal with moving things up. I'm hoping that this accident has taught her that being a traveling merchant isn't as fun as she thought. If this is what it takes to keep our daughter at home and happy, then it's what we'll have to do.

* * *

Note: The previous chapter was suppose to be published Wednesday, but for whatever reason there was an error. Then, FanFiction was down Saturday and Sunday. So, take these two belated chapters with my deepest apologies and know it won't happen again. As for "A New Order" it should be getting updated today or tomorrow since I wasn't able to work on it this weekend with FanFiction being down.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hundreds of Miles Away from Ashni..._

The mercenaries try to keep a brutal, punishing pace up for as long as possible. It's working nicely until the stable they stop at is out of horses. Whatever the merchant's mom promised the stable's owner wasn't enough to keep the horses there when someone else wanted them. Thankfully, violence would be useless since there aren't any horses to steal, so we ride on without incident with only a few curses and spitting being exchanged. It's only when a horse collapses that Azar decides it's best to let everyone rest. We throw up camp near some tumbling, deserted pile of stone ruins overgrown with moss. The lush forests of Falkreath and outer Whiterun have been left behind for the rocky, infertile ground of Eastmarch.

As I'm sharing a tent with the Khajiit, I get the pleasure of throwing our tent up on the softest piece of ground with the least amount of rocks. The mercenaries spread out in an unorganized, somewhat circular formation around us with multiple campfires burning throughout it. A few of the men go off in search of rabbits or foxes while others begin searching for water. The supplies are still full, but even one night of rest consumes them. Using the wilds for food and water before dipping into our supplies is, obviously, preferable. I'd like to go hunting or searching for water, but the merchant doesn't seem willing to do either and I don't want to leave her alone.

Oddly enough, she was the only person who kept insisting we keep pushing forward and even abandon the man who fell from his horse. It's out of character for her especially when she's so ragged and exhausted she's practically falling off her saddle. I'm barely holding up any better. It was the middle of the night when Azar roused us from sleep and we started riding, and neither of us are confident enough to sleep in the saddle. I tried once and fell off.

If it wasn't for a nearby mercenary who caught me before I fully fell I'd have cracked my head open. All I want right now is to go inside our tent, curl up with the merchant under a nice thick goatskin blanket, and sleep until we have to ride again. My lover is sitting beside the tent and looking up at the stars when I find her. Her tunic is soaked through with sweat and I see her trousers are stained with blood where her thighs have ripped open from riding.

"Need any help?". For a while, she doesn't say anything. Just when I'm about to get worried she finally speaks up.

"No, just sit with me.". Her request is easy to grant. I find a comfy piece of ground close to her that isn't too rocky, take a seat, and try to see what she's seeing. The sky is clear and the new moon leaves the stars to take center stage. I don't know any constellations from this angle, so I can't even try making conversation about constellations. She breaks the silence first.

"I don't trust them. The pass we came through when we fled Riften is the fastest way through the mountains. And, my parents live in the southern reaches of Morrowind. Going through the pass is easiest and quickest. We went northward around the mountains.". I've lived in Skyrim longer than the Khajiit has been here. With winter fast approaching it's no wonder the mercenaries didn't take the pass.

Months ago when we went through it, snow and ice were already clogging the edges of the pass and rock falls were common from what the soldiers and camp followers gossiped to me. Now, it's probably completely filled with ice and snow and fallen rocks that it's an entirely new mountain that's unstable with gaps of air waiting to suck in anyone who tries to climb it. Even digging through it has been known to cause sudden avalanches that consume workers whole to be found frozen in spring.

"Don't worry, the pass we took is frozen up by now. Going around from the north is fastest and safest. They're still taking you home.". The woman doesn't speak. I can't say I blame her for being paranoid. After all, she's been in almost constant danger since she arrived in Skyrim.

"You'll feel better when we cross into Morrowind. You're just nervous, it's understandable. You'll just have to wait to feel better.". I'm still looking at the stars when I feel the woman's hand brush mine. I let her take my hand in hers.

"It's late. We should probably get some sleep before we start riding.". She doesn't say anything, but she takes her hand away from mine and starts getting up. I wish she'd tell me what she's thinking or if she's being bothered. Still, I don't want to push her. I'm sure she'll tell me if things start getting bad enough. Paranoia isn't always rational, so I'd hate for her to tell me something and accidentally make it worse for her by not validating her in the right way. I've dealt with more than a few paranoid people in Riften, and letting them mull it over for a little bit usually helps.

Time heals all wounds and lets paranoid settle down. If it doesn't, then I can help her. However, if she tells me she's paranoid at first and I immediately agree she's right or take it seriously it might only make her more paranoid. After all, I'm not immune to her paranoia. The last thing I want is her paranoia to start throwing me into the mix. Thankfully, it doesn't look like she's paranoid about me right now because she gets underneath our borrowed blanket and has no issues when I wrap my arms around her. It's a nice, quiet night and the blanket is warm and comfy. It's easy to fall asleep with my lover wrapped safely in my arms.

* * *

 _Ten Feet from Mjoll..._

Even with the crate of food moved onto the strongest horse, we're still short one. Two of my horses are going to be forced to carry two men at a time, or else I'd have to have two of my men walk all the way back to Morrowind. We're about to pass Windhelm, so it's more important than ever that we all pass the city as quickly as possible. The Nords aren't fond of Dunmer or Khajiit, and I doubt the one Nord woman in our company is going to be enough to prove our peaceful intentions to Ulfric Stormcloak. The only good news about traveling through Eastmarch is that there aren't any Imperials. The Imperials are still burning the Rift and sending scouts to Whiterun hold. My own scouts ran across a few. They seemed friendly enough if not keen on sending my scouts back the way they'd come.

Correctly, they assumed no Dunmer would willingly work with Ulfric Stormcloak or run the risk of selling him false information. With the Imperials unable to penetrate Eastmarch and the nearby capital confident of her security, no patrols or marching armies will run across us. I'm sure the farmers we see will send their sons off to Windhelm as soon as they can to report a herd of Dunmer going by, but by the time any guards arrive my men and I should be long gone. Once we cross into Morrowind, the guards won't consider trailing us.

"Azar.". A young boy in a thin, leather jerkin is who calls to me. The boy barely has stubble on his cheeks and he's skinnier than even Weasel is. Whoever he is, I've no doubt it was his father who brought him along.

"Yes?". The child is carrying a tray laden with two bowls of onion stew, a rack of basted dog ribs, and a flagon of a sweet violet wine brought with us from Morrowind. The meal is one I recognize well: I sent it.

"They didn't want it?" I'd hoped breaking into some of the "nicer" rations would set our more noble guest at ease. After all, when she returns to her mother I'd like her to tell her a glowing tale of how we were gentlemen and treated her like the nobility her and her family like to think of themselves as.

"They were asleep by the time I got there. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to rouse them or not.". Anyone else would have known to leave the food outside their tent on the off chance one of them steps out in the middle of the night, or so they could eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning.

"Forget it, just count the horses and tell Weasel how many there are without a load.". The boy is shaking and bolts the second I've relieved him of his tray. The ribs are still warm and the stew hasn't formed a greasy film on the top of it yet, so I don't bother replacing the food with fresher rations. The Nord woman is stepping back into the tent when I arrive.

"Mjoll!". The woman's turned around in a flash and her hand reaches for a dagger that isn't there. She's changed her clothes out for some breast bindings and loose fitting boxer shorts. I offer the food up to her.

"Don't worry, you won't need your knife. The chef promised me the ribs would fall off the bone by the time he was done with them.". Mjoll takes the tray, mumbles her thanks, and awkwardly pushes the tent flap back with her foot to place the tray of food and drink inside. Thankfully, she doesn't go inside and stays for conversation.

"When do we ride?". The sun hasn't even kissed the horizon yet, so she should be able to get a few hours of sleep after we're done talking.

"Not anytime soon. The horses are exhausted and still being watered and groomed. I think I speak for all my men when I say we don't want to stop again. A break is nice, but it's nothing compared to your own bed.". The Nord only nods in agreement and looks ready to let our conversation drop.

"So, might I ask what you're getting paid? Most bodyguards won't cross out of their home province for anything less than a fortune.". I'm not particularly interested in what she's getting paid, but I want her to give me a glowing review when her and her charge are returned to Morrowind.

"Nothing.". Now, that truly perks my interest.

"Nothing?". She shrugs and begins entering the tent she's sharing with our charge.

"Nothing.". She disappears inside and a candle is lit. The merchant's daughter grumbles awake and I hear a hushed, quick conversation take place. Their shadows dance in the candlelight and, soon enough, I eat the slurping of soup and gnawing of ribs. As tempting as it is to eavesdrop on them, I'm terrible at hiding and they both already know I'm outside their tent. Trying to listen in on their conversation most likely won't work, and a little gossip isn't worth souring my relationship with Mjoll and the merchant. Now, there's nothing left for me to do besides prepare the horses for the morning. We have hundreds of miles to ride tomorrow and, at the end of it, there's a small fortune awaiting me.

* * *

Note: Sorry this took so long. Expect a break for America's Thanksgiving and the next chapter to come out over the weekend.


	21. Chapter 21

_Hundreds of Miles from Azar..._

The man from House Dres is covered in fine scale armor beneath lighter leather with a helm of steel in the shape of an Argonian's stripped skull atop his own head. House Dres ceased its trade in slaves hundreds of years ago. That doesn't mean the descendants of slavers don't love hanging rusting chains and disintegrating leather hides of the beast folk up on their walls to remember the glory days. Of all the five great houses, House Dres has fallen the farthest since its glory days. Slaves made picking the crops they primarily trade highly profitable. Now, hired workers cost them more and their attempts to diversify into other areas of business always end in failure as the other four houses put pressure on them.

House Dres has always known how to make money, but they've never learned how to not make enemies. Putting on a show of false confidence is important to all the houses after Morrowind after Red Mountain exploded. Even on the outskirts of Morrowind leading into Skyrim, we aren't spared from the occasional ash storm or poisonous rain. To rely on a plant that needs watering as often as saltrice is a risky game at most, but House Dres has always seemed to win that gamble. Hence, why even a servant of such low standing in the house can afford to wear such fine armor for nothing more than running a message and some gold.

The sum of five thousand gold is carried in a small chest the runner can struggle to carry on his own. His mule carried it and him easily enough, but the sight of him struggling up the walkway to our home with it was more than a little embarrassing for everyone involved. My youngest daughter, Lesspa, is kind enough to assist him once he's reached our doorstep. I can't say I blame her for waiting so long before helping him, though. Recent rains and melting snow from the distant mountains have flooded our nearby stream well over its normal banks to the point half our yard is completely flooded and the other half is a field of mud and shit. It's only our porch and home itself that remain untouched by the water. The poor runner is scrapping shit off his boots when I meet him in my solar.

The airy, open room is a delight in the summer and spring when the windows can be opened and the colors of nature can be observed with a nice vintage red in hand. In the winter and fall it's a chilly, dreary room robbed of all natural light that makes even the pelts and heads lining the wall seem saddened. A boiled, strong mead is the only remedy for such a room and, thankfully, I was pouring myself a cup when Ashni told me the stable boy had seen the rider coming. The Dunmer gurgles a deep word of thanks as he takes the mead and downs it in one swallow. Mead is still dripping from his tangled, messy beard as he speaks.

"I'm Vanik, Lord Dras' fourth son. I've come on behalf of my brother, Hel, to see his bride price arrive safely to his betrothed's father.". The short, stout chest is made of ashen wood a dingy color of grey, but the gold inside is shiny enough to make up for its container's lackluster appearance. I play my hand carefully as I examine the gold. Five thousand gold coins is nothing to House Dres, and sending his fourth son is both a way to threaten and judge me. Parading his son before me is an obvious threat directed at my eldest daughter. His second son is closer to his seat, but he's also a cripple.

Sending a healthy, hardy son to give me the bride price is a reminder his crippled son is the only offer he'll make. Likewise, his fourth son is no doubt going to be judging me and my family to make sure we're worthy of marrying into House Dres. The mud and water can't be helped, but I'm hoping our house not being underwater shows we're smart enough to build on the safest section of our property. Hopefully, the dowry is enough to win him over even with most of our property wet or muddy. The traditional dowry for marrying upwards so high is an acre of fertile land, ten horses, and a suit of armor for the husband to wear on the wedding day.

Considering the fact my soon to be son-in-law is unable to stand, I've forgone the traditional armor in favor of an armored breastplate with gauntlets, an extravagant full helm decorated with the symbols of House Dres, and leather studded greaves with matching leather boots. To make up for the lack of metal greaves and boots, I've added a fine oaken and metal shield along with the finest steel available on the market. To be safe, I've even thrown in a set of steel horse armor. The man might be crippled, but it's well known he likes to race in a chariot designed to hold him safely in place and high enough he can see over his horses' asses.

I'd have gone for a new chariot if I wasn't warned by my blacksmith the one Lord Dras' second son is using is the finest in all of Morrowind. Giving a lessor version of something he already has is like to offend him. The armor is brought in by servants Ashni promised me would come. Luckily, they come in just as I'm shutting the chest of gold. Vanik shows no sign during the presentation of armor, but once the servants have gone he nods in approval while running his hand along the armor's weak points.

"Hel will like this. He can't saddle a horse; though, his deceased wife oft claimed he had a secret stash of paintings commissioned of him wearing armor on horseback.".

"Speaking of horses, would you like to see the steeds I have ready for your return?". I mount Blackberry and give Vanik Sugarplum to ride to the stables. Fifteen horses are waiting at the stables for us. They're made up of eight destriers, four coursers, and three rounceys. The destriers are covered in heavy, thick steel armor unadorned with saddles, blankets, and bridles already strapped on. The coursers are given only leather armor with a bridle to make them versatile to both combat and speed. Finally, the three rounceys are equipped with only bridle to make them as swift as possible.

Vanik takes his sweet time inspecting the horses. All are male, but the rounceys and two of the coursers have been gelded to assure they don't grow any meatier and ruin their speed. The destriers are as big as they'll get, but most lords and knights find it pleasing to have their horses intact to appear manlier. I've always found intact horses harder to control; thankfully, I won't be dealing with them for much longer if Vanik likes what he sees. The man checks the destriers over carefully and does a brief inspection of the coursers while barely giving the rounceys a passing glance.

"These will do nicely. Most are unaltered and will give our mares at home some fine young foals once the winter has passed.". It takes Vanik a while to get all the horses lined up, tied securely together, and blindfolded. When he's done, I mount Blackberry and Vanik mounts the lead destrier who was saved from being blindfolded. Sugarplum is, thankfully, well trained enough she follows Blackberry without any hassle. The slow, large train of horses makes poor time as I take Vanik to the final gift I have to give his family in return for uniting our daughter and their son. The five acres of fertile, prime land has been seeded with corn, wheat, carrots, potatoes, and other crops meant to sustain my family.

The crops we need barely take up a hundred feet, so it'll be easy to harvest before House Dres comes for the land and even easier to replace on a patch of land on the other side of our property. It'll make getting the crops and transporting them back to the house a little more troublesome while exposing our underground crops to gophers, but a marriage is more important than comfort and excess food. Vanik dismounts and leaves me with his train of horses while he goes down to inspect the land and taste some of its bounties.

Most of the land is covered in a thin layer of ash and a little muddy from recent rains and flooding. However, the food is still good and the breakfast of fried and grilled potatoes Ashni gave me was wonderful tasting. It's getting late when Vanik returns with a half eaten potato in hand. It's only when he's mounted on his leading horse he finishes the vegetable. Silently, I begin guiding Blackberry and Sugarplum towards the border of my property. We've reached the rock piles signaling my land ends when Vanik is finally able to speak.

"I like this land. I like these horses.". A strong, sturdy hand clasps me on the shoulder.

"I like you. I'll go home and sing praises to father. Expect our family to arrive in a few days. I'm sure everyone will want to celebrate before the big wedding. Make sure your daughter is ready to wed as soon as she's returned from Skyrim. My brother's been chomping at the bit for the chance at marrying again. Poor man's been lonely since his wife died.". I take the opportunity to get to know a little more about my future son-in-law.

"If I might ask, why is m'lord lonely? I'm sure someone as high in power as him is never want for admirers.". A great, booming laugh sends Sugarplum to kicking at the ground. I let Vanik laugh to his heart's content and silently wait for him to calm down.

"Hel was crippled at birth. He's wanted for everything since the moment he came into this world. He likes reading and cooking and playing the harp. A woman might swoon over his playing, but they'd never trust a man who can't walk to defend them from raiders should the household guard fail to see them enter.". From my understanding, Hel wishes to live nearby as to not take my wife away from her family. Our own household guard has never failed me, so I have no worry that Hel will be what stands between my daughter and death. I tell Hel as much as he's pulling a wineskin from his hip.

"I hope you're right. Otherwise, all Hel could do was die along with his lady wife.". Another thunderous laugh is all Sugarplum can take. The mare flips her tail and turns around to trot back to the house. I let her go and take the wineskin from Vanik when offered. The ale he has is strong and thick enough to choke. I barely manage to get it down before it's already trying to come back up. I do my best to fight the drink back down as Vanik snatches the skin back. He's chugging the rest of his ale as I finally win the war against the ale in my gut. I can feel my face flushing beneath my pelt when the drink finally settles. Vanik returns the empty, shrunken skin back to his hip and clambers atop his destier.

"I'll see you at the wedding, Omar. Make sure your daughter's wearing white, or my old man might consider swapping Hel for our brother at the breast.". More thunderous laughter follows him as he speeds away, the train of horses behind him.


	22. Chapter 22

_Fifty or so miles from Omar..._

When Red Mountain erupted over two hundred years ago, vast swatches and dozens of cities and settlements were destroyed within hours by the initial eruption. Today, ash is still flowing and most of the land has been poisoned by the constant rain of ash and soot Red Mountain is still spewing. Our farm is on the very edge of Morrowind within a few hours ride from the border to Skyrim. The land was spared most of the blast and the ash doesn't blanket the land in a few feet as it does other areas of Morrowind. That doesn't mean we aren't harmed. Occasionally, the winds or storms will blow ash to us. If we're lucky, it'll be mixed with snow, ice or water that will prevent the ash from sinking too deeply into the soil. Still, that doesn't prevent the rare ash storm from poisoning our wells or suffocating our cattle.

A recent storm has turned the narrow, dirt paths to my home into slushy roads of mud and ash that sucks our horses' hooves deep with every step only to release them with soft _sucks_ as we go. The sky is overcast and the atmosphere itself seems to be more water than air with the infrequent dribble of rain warning of the possibility of another downpour. The worst, though, is the ash hanging in the air. Even with a cloth tied tight around my face the sooth builds up until it's formed a thick, crusty layer of soggy residue on my makeshift scarf.

Even with claws to help scrape away the gunk, some of it still finds its way beneath my claw beds or through my mask and into my mouth or nose. Without any form of protection, my eyes are burning and my eyelashes are weighed heavy with soot. I often find myself envying my horse who got to be blindfolded with her feedbag tied tight round her head to the point her nose and mouth are both covered completely up to the diamond on her forehead. If she's uncomfortable with the sucking mud or suffocating ash she shows no sign. The sweet mare trusts me without question. Given the situation, I think her a fool. I can barely see beyond my horse's nose and, unlike some of the mercenaries, I refuse to dismount to feel in front of my steed to prevent her from falling into any holes and breaking a leg.

The muddy road comes up to our destriers' bellies and to about Mjoll's chest. I'm a head shorter than Mjoll and the mud would almost swallow me whole given I've taken to walking hunched over with the weight of the ash on my cloak. Mjoll offered to guide my mare, but her uncut stallion is unruly and giving her enough trouble to deal with. Should my horse go down, then I'll just have to live covered in mud for a few hours. And, should the worst come and I be trapped beneath my mare, the mercenaries will either save me, or I won't have to worry about an arranged marriage anymore.

Thankfully, the bare trees on either side of us begin to go from sparse and far between to fighting for room. Even without their leaves, their roots run deep and begin to give the ground more sturdy foundation. Slowly, the mud begins to become shallower and shallower. It takes nearly fifteen minutes, but Azar's horse is the first to break free of the thick mud. The gelding whinnies in triumph and Azar begins laughing is his smooth, soothing voice as his steed kicks and shakes to free himself of the thicker clumps of mud that have accumulated on his legs and stomach. Mjoll leading her stallion is the second to free herself of the mud.

Her armor is soaked with mud and her boots are crusted with clumps of sediment from the bottom of the muddy path. Her stallion begins trying to break away, but a few quiet words calm the temporarily blinded beast. His harsh, rapid panting and flicking of his tail attest to the fear and exhaustion pulsing through him. Shockingly, my mare is the next to break free from the mud. She lets out a high pitched, harsh whinny as the first of her hooves finds solid ground. I hang on for dear life as she wildly begins thrashing and charging forward. Finally, she has all four hooves on solid ground. The mare collapses, briefly, before a lick of my spurs has her up again. Luckily, she locks her knees and hangs her head instead of laying down again.

Now, I have to wait for the rest of the mercenaries with their horses to fight their way through the mud. Our supplies of food, water, and emergency tools were all abandoned at the edge of the muddy road's beginning. Any unnecessary weight on the horses was a liability for everyone. More weight means more trouble getting the animal through the mud while also increasing the risk of one going down and drowning in the muck. Azar was adamant that nobody should ride their horses in the beginning. Thankfully, he changed his mind when he realized a few of his men along with myself were at risk of being swallowed in the mud if we weren't mounted when we crossed. I was, luckily, at the front of the line of mercenaries and get to enjoy a break as everyone else fights their way across.

I take the break to scrape off the crust of ash on my mask, get a clean cloth from my pocket to rub my eyes with, and even pull my mask down to suck in a few deep, painful breaths of ash and air mixed together. I'd rather not suck down ash into my lungs, but my head is beginning to pound and my vision spin. While I'm recovering, Mjoll hobbles her horse and comes to me. She's wearing her helm with a thin, almost transparent piece of cloth on the inside of her visor. It makes it tougher for her to clean ash from it; still, I envy her as her cloth also protects her eyes in addition to her nose.

"Are you alright?". The only part of me that got any mud was the very bottom of my boots. Compared the Mjoll, I feel bad complaining about the weight of my cloak or the taste of ash still in my mouth on the back of my tongue.

"Perfect. I just can't wait to get home. My father had our house sealed off completely when he learned my mother was pregnant with me. I can't wait to get inside and be able to laugh at all the poor pigs and cows stuck out in the ash.".

"Your parents don't bring them in during storms?".

"Not ash storms. You'll learn soon enough the animals and monsters of Morrowind are suited to the ash here. Oblivion, even the Dunmer seem to be able to tolerate the stuff. Only us poor Khajiit and Nord women who aren't built for this land seem to suffer.". Mjoll kissing the back of my hand before departing with the declaration to go help pull the weaker mercenaries and horses through the slop. It takes nearly an hour before most of the men are across the gap, and Mjoll has been helping them every step of the way. She's a panting, exhausted mess by the time she's finally mounted again.

Azar would love nothing more than to give everyone a rest since some of the men have just finished crossing, but the sun is starting to set behind the clouds far to the west. If we don't get moving we'll be out here at night when all the nocturnal creatures awaken. My mare is well rested and, even though Mjoll is tired, her stallion is likewise in good shape. Azar shouts some commands at his second in command before turning his gelding's head towards us.

"We'll go ahead. Your home is only twenty miles from here at most. If we can get our horses into a good gallop we can be there within half an hour at the earliest. The path ahead is often traveled by merchants and holy men in the fall. With two armed warriors and three strong steeds, I doubt any brigand that could see us would bother attacking. The trees offer no cover to hide and a speeding horse is too much trouble to chase.".

"In that case, let's stop talking and let's get moving!". Mjoll kicks her horse in the sides as she speaks and goes riding off without a glance back. I put my mare into action so I'm not the one at the end of our procession. I hear Azar command his steed to begin moving after I've gone a few feet, so I know he's following. It doesn't take me long to catch up to Mjoll and get my blinded horse as close as possible. The well beaten, tightly packed dirt path is smooth enough I have no fear of one of our horses stumbling or striking a sharp rock with the bottom of their hooves. Slowly, Mjoll picks up her speed even more and I follow suit. We're soon rushing along at a pace bordering on foolish.

It's only when the trees suddenly turn to stumps that Mjoll reins in hard enough her horse loses his footing and slams his shoulder into the ground hard enough to leave a miniature ditch behind him. The stallion screams, but, thankfully, manages to right himself and stumble back onto all four hooves. My father had any tree on our land chopped down to make stables and houses and docks along with dozens of other smaller wooden items we need to sustain ourselves. It also served a duel purpose of pushing the forest further away from our homes and stables. Now, the guards have a clearer view of anything that crawls out of the forest.

There's roughly a five hundred foot gap between the edge of the woods and the nearest building which is nothing more than a storage shed. Even if whatever came from the woods was clever enough to use the shed to hide behind, there's another two hundred foot gap to the next nearest building that's a stable full of horses that can raise the alarm. Overall, it gives the guards that patrol the area more than enough chances to see any clannfear or alit that come crawly from the woods in hopes of easy prey. Already, I feel safer knowing there are eyes watching the woods and armed, unseen guards nearby ready to assist should anything go wrong.

"You two should find somewhere safe. I'm going to tell your father you're here. If everything goes right, then this should be the last we see of each other. No offense, but Blacklight is closer and the capital is more lucrative than a farm.".

"Goodbye, Azar. I wish you well.". Just like that, the mercenary is gone from my life. I watch him ride down the hill towards my home. The outskirts of our property are hilly, though, and he's soon disappeared behind another hill. I don't wait any longer to begin riding somewhere safer than right outside the woods where dangerous creatures make their home.

"Come on, follow me.". The guards have multiple small barracks scattered about the property. I don't know the exact location of every single one, but I know one in the general vicinity to our right. The two story, narrow wooden structure is unlocked which means all the guards are gone. My father doesn't allow the barracks to have locks on the outside since he's paranoid of fires erupting and the locked door being what takes the guards too long to escape.

Mjoll and I hobble our horses before shuffling into the barracks. A small table with an ice box are dominating the first floor to the point it's hard to move around with two people inside. I know on the second floor, like all the other barracks, there's a large bed that takes up the entire room save for a small space for the chamber pot. I'm about to speak when the door opens.

* * *

Note: Sorry this took so long, my computer was having issues.


	23. Chapter 23

Malik is a Redguard woman of small stature with the plume on her helm ending at 4'11''. At almost two hundred pounds, she looks more circular than any other guard on my father's force which makes it easy to tell who she is even with her helm on. Even if I had doubts, the heavy breathing would assure me I was right. The woman is my age, but she huffs like an elderly man whenever she moves. The light leather jerkin, chainmail, and scale plate armor she's wearing attribute greatly to her heavy breathing. All together, her armor adds roughly another hundred pounds to her already heavy frame. She's great to hide behind and near impossible to topple in a fight.

In exchange, she's the slowest fighter I've ever seen and, should an opponent somehow manage to topple her, she can't regain her footing by herself should she go down. A heavy oaken shield strapped to her arm shows a beaver with a clutch of grapes in his greedy paws. When I left, she had three grapes in the clutch her beaver was holding. Three grapes means the guard is of a rank where guards of lessor ranks have to listen to her and she can be assigned as the leader of the guard should the current leader be needed elsewhere for a time.

Now, four grapes are in the clutch. I find myself reaching for the shield without even thinking about what I'm doing or who I'm with. Malik doesn't even hesitate to turn her shield so I can run my fingers along the sigil. The paint is still wet and I pull my hand back dripping purple from the newly added grape.

"Sorry.". Malik's thick, comforting laugh resonates from deep in her chest.

"Don't worry about it. A bruised grape is still a grape.". She moves her shield into a more comfortable position and I see the newest addition to her wardrobe. Malik always fought with a mace even when we were little more than children at play. She's been amazing with a mace ever since she was properly taught how to hold one. A crushing blow from a tourney mace even managed to kill a knight's horse once years and years ago when she confronted one at a crossroads. She'd been going to Blacklight to compete in a mass melee to see who could enter into the capital's guard training program.

Sadly, the knight who'd pissed her off enough to kill his horse also happened to be the captain of the guards on his way back from Windhelm to visit his aunt. Still, Malik had always boasted of her deed and refused to learn any other weapon ever since that day. Her mace was unadorned and the handle was simple wood; still, she never felt the need to replace the trusty weapon. Now, rather than a mace hanging from her belt, I see a bastard sword made of dragonbone honed sharp enough to shave with.

The pommel is the shape of a snarling beaver's head made of fire agate with two small, brown diamonds for eyes. The hilt and crossguard are also made of fire agate with the crossguard taking the shape of a thin log with carved engravings of grape vines running along the length of it. Finally, the single-edged dragonbone blade has the scene of a busy stream running along the side of it that isn't sharpened. Beavers chasing salmon, building dens, and gnawing trees prance across the blade inches from the edge meant to rend a foe's head in half. My father won some ancient blade of one of the extinct great houses when a scholar came through before I was even born. My father had wagered his farm on a roll of the dice in exchange for the only blade the scholar was willing to part with.

The blade was dull enough it couldn't cut butter, its ferocious name was lost to time, and it lacked any sort of crossguard, hilt or pommel. Still, the ancient blade was made of dragonbone. Without any dragons alive, it was a fine prize for my father. Besides, dragonbone can never be destroyed; only reformed. Over five years, my father had hired smiths far and wide to make the sword into something he could brag about. Finally, when it was done he'd mockingly dubbed the finished blade "Beaver's Bite" and given it to the leader of our household guard.

Pell has been the leader of our guards since before I was born and he was still the leader of our guards when I left. He'd taken a nasty blow from a bandit about a year ago, but the old man was walking around and doing his daily routes when I was gone. He even waved me goodbye and wished me well as I rode by him at the perimeter. Pell was the largest Orc I've ever laid eyes on and hairier than any bear that lived. His fine onyx mane had turned to silver in recent years; still, he should be protecting the house. He never believed in any of his parent's traditions, so I know damned well he isn't off somewhere seeking a good death because he's gotten a little long in the tooth. I almost choke on my words as I ask Malik them.

"What happened to Pell?".

"You should sit down.". I jerk away from the hand she raises to me and go sprawling into Mjoll's arms. My love heaves me up as I keep trying to put distance between me and Malik. I fail, so I'm forced to ask again.

"What happened to Pell?!". Malik doesn't try to come closer this time. Instead, she finally just answers me.

"His wound finally did him in. It was festering and rotten. We tried getting a trained healer from Blacklight out here, but it was too late. All she could do was cut the rotten meat away, rinse down the wound, and bandage it up anew.". I can't say I'll go mad with grief at Pell's passing. He was a good man and there were times he was almost like a second father to me: teaching me how to saddle a horse, then how to ride it; catching, killing, and gutting fish in the nearby stream; and, he was the one who took me to the nearest inn and let me try my first mead when my father and mother were away. However, he was also sterner than an oak tree if I ever went against what he'd told me, and he'd been chased from Skyrim for unspeakable acts my father refused to ever tell me.

I'd found him creeping around my sister's room once in the middle of the night when he was the only one on watch, though. And, if that wasn't enough, I'd gotten up for a midnight snack and happened to run into him on multiple occasions when he was assigned to outside duty. I'd even had the "pleasure" of waking up to him in my room when my father was away. He'd claimed to be searching for a rat and, sure enough, he'd found a rat come morning after I'd told him to leave me to my slumber.

Being a creep who likes watching women sleep is bad, but not enough to get one banished from an entire province with threat of death upon return. He'll be missed as an old family friend, but in a way his death is good. Now, I won't have to worry about an old creep sneaking into my room, and I also won't need worrying he'll see me and Mjoll sharing a bed.

Still, it does burn more than I'd like it to. Even with his creepiness, he never harmed me and I can never _prove_ he did what I think he did in Skyrim. I feel tears slipping free as I try to focus on the warm, comforting arms of my lover wrapped round me. Malik offers me a comforting touch on the shoulder and I find myself trapping her hand in mine. Malik was a good friend to me as a child and, even though we've grown apart as her work has separated us, I still like to think of us as friends. All that's grounding me right now is Malik and Mjoll. The two women are all I can trust in the world right now with everything I am. Malik knew before I left I was against any arranged marriage my father and mother had for me, so there's little reason to hide my plan from her.

I'm not going to tell her right now, obviously, but later I can fill my friend in and see if she can offer any help. I'm sure things have happened while I'm away that my parents will try to omit to prevent me from worrying. I need all the information I can get from a source that has nothing to hide if I want a clear image of how quickly the wedding is happening, who exactly I'm being married to, and what my family stands to lose when I inevitably break off the marriage or divorce whoever I'm going to be saddled with. Malik is the perfect woman for the job. The thundering of hooves reaches my ears and I have little time to make up my mind on my current course of action.

"Malik, please, seek me and my friend out later. I need to speak to you.". She nods and gives me a deep bow. I try making it a little less formal and stiff.

"It was nice to see you again.". The guard doesn't have any time to reply as a booming voice calls my name. A sharp whinny tells me my father's ridden Blackberry up to meet us. Sure enough, when Malik moves and I step outside I see my father hobbling the gelding. Along with him, my mother, sister, and uncle have all arrived along with a small escort of guards clad in the same armor as Malik. My family is mounted on an assortment of horses from our stables while the guards are forced to walk on foot.

Malik barks a few quick orders and the guards are quickly in a roughly circular formation around the area to encircle everyone who isn't a guard in their midst. I don't even have time to greet anyone as I'm swooped into a tremendous hug by my mother and father with my sister awkwardly patting my back as she struggles to get into the hug. My father is a larger, hairier version of me dressed in the finest silken robes dyed a deep purple with silver and gold jewelry dangling from his fingers, neck, and ears until he looks more treasure chest than Khajiit.

Beside him, my mother looks all a dwarf. She's only an inch shorter than Malik, but she weighs roughly a hundred pounds less, so she's bony and skinny to the point her physician forbid her from having another child after my sister. Her longer, silkier fur is pure sable from the tips to her ears to the bottom of her heels without the slightest hint of grey or white. Likewise, her eyes are a deep brown in contrast to my father's bright blues.

Where I'm my father, my sister is my mother save for her towering height and excessive weight. Still, our mother shares the same taste of fashion as my sister: simple. Plain trousers and jerkins of linen adorn their bodies with no accessories save for the small, slim wedding band made of silver my mother wears on her right ring finger. If it wasn't for my father insisting, then I'm sure my mother and sister would go back to the ancient ways where Khajiit didn't wear shoes. I'm still enjoying the hug and melting into it when my uncle speaks.

"By the Nine, what happened to your arm?!". It's like I've suddenly turned into a pariah. Everyone pulls back, then begins fawning and screaming and arguing as they realize I'm missing my arm. It's only when Mjoll lets out a loud cry everyone falls silent and gives me their attention.

"I can explain.".


	24. Chapter 24

_A Few Feet from the Khajiit..._

Skyrim is a dangerous, rough place I only visited in my youth when my father moved my family from Hammerfell to Morrowind. Saber-toothed cats, bears, and packs of roving wolves numbering in the tens were common threats to travelers during the daytime. During nighttime, the risks of werewolves, vampires, and ghosts added themselves to the mix. I'd worried when my friend told me she planned on taking a caravan of goods on a small ship up through Windhelm and all the way down to Riften. I'd begged her to stay in Windhelm and find guards and mercenaries there willing to take her to Whiterun. Of course, with her being a Khajiit, she saw the wisdom in going to Imperial territory to find a guard.

If she wasn't immediately denied entrance into Windhelm, then there's a good chance she'd get kicked out when one of the Stormcloaks stationed there falsely accused her of a crime. When word of her assumed death reached us, I knew deep down my friend was gone and even without a body it would be best to try to move on. Only I'd found her. I found her standing in the guards' barracks missing an arm and gaining a nasty scar where her limb once was. If it wasn't for the giant woman clad in steel plate beside her, I'd almost assume she was a disfigured shade wandering the lands where she once lived.

When she said she would explain her missing limb, I'd hoped something as simple as a severing wound from a soldier's weapon, or some savage beast tearing it off with a single bite. Instead, the story she tells is of misery. A desperate run from the Imperial army, a pursuing vampire, and a slow death upon the snow all make appearances in her tale. Once in a while, the warrior woman who accompanied her will add a gruesome detail such as the amputation process when the healers were forced to remove her collar bone as well to assure a clean heal, or how her rotting limb had to be fed to hogs to keep wolves from following the stench of decay. It seems my friend has been running from the first day she entered Skyrim up until she found refuge in her parent's home in Whiterun.

Still, the hard ride back to Morrowind coupled with the approaching winter made for a final leg home that promised death if they stopped for too long. Finally, with the sun dipping low, the Khajiit finishes her story that began months ago when she got on a boat a few miles from the farm to sail to Riften. All the while, her parents and sister have only grown quieter and more gaunt. Most of all, her mother hasn't taken her eyes off where her daughter's limb once resided. I can't even begin to imagine the pain of a mother hearing her child has been through all this.

When it's done, there's not much for the family to do besides hug and mumble both condolences and praises for how she's handled her loss. It's a fellow guard of mine, Brian, who notices the Khajiit's wound is weeping. My friend insist it's fine even as her family forces her to lift her shirt to reveal fully what her wound is doing. The thick, raised scar erupts from the center of the cut where five red, inflamed lines of flesh meet to form a giant knot of scar tissue.

The edge of the scar has begun to crust and shed grey flakes to show new, final growth of white scar tissue beneath. A few inches away from the edge and halfway to the center, there's another section of flesh still grey and hard where the ridges of white scar tissue where the Khajiit was sewn together are still angry and blistered. The center of the wound is the worst, though. Weeping a thick and chunky fluid the color of curdled milk with the consistency of cake batter, the inside is as scarlet as a freshly made sword pulled from the flames.

The worst part of the inside is the knotted lines of flesh are breaking apart where they come together as each strand of scars fights for dominance in growing over one another. I swear I can even see the flesh near the very epicenter seem to slightly pulse every few beats of the Khajiit woman's heart.

"It does that sometimes.". For the first time, I hear the warrior woman's voice break as she answers the Khajiit's assurance her new wound has done this more than just now.

"Why haven't you told me when it's done this?". A shrug of the merchant's shoulders sends a fresh flow of ooze down to ruin her bra and pants.

"The healers warned me it would happen until the entire thing is done flaking. I didn't want to freak you out.". The warrior reaches for her, but she never makes it. The Khajiit is shorter than her father by a foot and weighs almost a hundred pounds less. Easily, he scoops his child into his arms and tosses her atop Blackberry like she weighs nothing at all. My employer heaves his wife up after his daughter and uses the voice I've only ever heard him use around unruly guards.

"Take her back to the house. I'll have Robert come and see to her.". Robert is a healer passing by who's rented space in our barn for his mule and himself to rest for the night as he tends to the people on the farm and a nearby settlement of less than twenty people. He's made good money, and with the promise of a harsh winter he's even gotten himself the use of a small shack on the property to stay in until spring. Now, it looks like he has the chance to upgrade himself to a place inside the house to tend to my employer's daughter.

Once again, the warrior who came with my friend reaches for her and prepares to say something. I never find out as my employer slaps his horse on the ass to get Blackberry moving. The horse snorts before bolting off. It's all Ashni can do to grab the reins from around her daughter and begin steering Blackberry in the general direction of the main house. I'm left with my fellow guards, the unknown warrior, and my friend's father and sister. The two Khajiit stay for barely a minute more. The two mumble a conversation between themselves, order the guards to secure the perimeter, and take the warrior with them as they go off in the opposite direction of the main house.

Knowing how these things work, I've no doubt they're taking the warrior to get her money and sending her on her way. They'll probably send a mercenary or two with her, but either way she's getting her gold and being sent away. Freelance mercenaries staying for long periods of time lead to only trouble and grief. Right now, though, I need to focus on what I was ordered. I divide sections of the farm up among the other guards, give them the direction of their routes, and tell them when to stop a continuous patrol. Obviously, I give myself patrol around the main house. If I'm lucky, I'll see my friend outside. If I'm unlucky, I'll have to wait an hour or two until I begin guarding inside.

As a guard, horses aren't generally assigned. I, as the head guard, get one per tradition of the leader of the guards being tasked with running important messages. However, as part of the price to secure my friend's marriage to a prominent lord, my horse was sold off for extra cash to give the groom when he arrives. I'm stuck with an old donkey with a swayed back that was used to plow fields until a few weeks ago. The only benefit is the beast is trained to flee at the sound of a scream, and to return at the call of a whistle. He isn't smart enough to differentiate between who's screaming, though, so he's bolted on more than a few occasions and ran to someone who isn't me on even more occasions. Still, there's no harm in trying to see if he's within whistling range and his selective hearing isn't turned on.

I give a sharp whistle and hear a groaning haw in response. The donkey's saddle is too large for him and I hear the _click_ of the stirrups against the ground before I see the sagging beast come over the hill. I give the faithful beast of burden a few pats on the head, a sugar cube, and a scratch behind the ear before climbing on him. I have to curl my knees up and look ridiculous; however, the donkey can walk around for hours on end while I'll tire after ten minutes. Being fat and covered in armor makes guarding harder than I'd care to admit.

Still, I cringe in embarrassment when a few farmhands spot me on my slow ride. Thankfully, I know exactly where I want to go first during my patrol. My friend and her sister are the only two of the family that live on the first floor of the house with their parents taking up the third floor. My friend's sister, Admir, got an interior room as a child for fear of monsters climbing in her window in the dead of night. My friend, however, got an exterior room with a single double panned window showing her the outside world. Her parents planted shrubs in front of it when she was a child to prevent her from sneaking out with a clean escape; however, as time went on the goats got to them and Ashni never saw fit to make sure her daughter couldn't escape again.

More than once, that's worked to my advantage whenever I wanted to sneak my best friend out for some drinking or whoring. It's a long shot she'll be free by now or be happening to look out her window, but there are worst things to do with my time than check on her. I prod my donkey in the sides a little as we finally pass the last field and the main house comes into view. I'm turning the corner and sucking in air to call out when I hear the whispered conversation of two voices. I rein up hard and pull my donkey back around from the corner he was about to turn.

I dismount, slide onto my stomach, and begin crawling forward in one swift motion. My helm slides from my head with ease as I stick it around the corner. I'd hate for my shining helm to be what gives me away to whoever I'm spying on. Before me, the tremendous woman warrior is struggling to regain her breath and hunched over. Above her, from a second story window, my one armed friend is hanging out the window with her one remaining hand dangling down.

"Mjoll, come on!". The Nord waves at the Khajiit before backing up, sucking in a deep breath and charging the wall. She manages to grab the other woman's hand for a second, but when the Khajiit almost tumbles out the window she abandons her. The warrior crashes to the ground while the merchant scrabbles back inside.

"I'm sorry, I'll find something to pull you up with!". Mjoll grumbles while struggling to right herself. Soon enough, Mjoll is standing and a sheet is being tossed from the window. The sheet ends only a feet or two from the window; unfortunately, the Nord had to jump that high to catch my friend's hand the first time. I'm struggling to contain myself and refrain from bursting out and attacking the Nord who's clearly brainwashed my friend when it happens: Mjoll charges, leaps, and slides into the window with ease. I'm left stuck on the ground in the mud.

* * *

Note: I'm so, so sorry from the delay and please try to believe me when I say I'm doing my best to try to keep it from happening again. My dog just had surgery and I had to spend the last two weeks babysitting him.


	25. Chapter 25

_A Few Feet from Malik..._

My Khajiit friend's room is a good example of why the peasants tend to rebel against those who rule them. Thick, Summer Isle carpet covers the entire floor in a layer deep enough to brush the tops of my feet whenever I stand still. The fine flooring is also dyed a deep, rich purple that only comes from boiling a certain type of marine snail found only on the southern coastal regions of Hammerfell. To make this much purple dye, thousands upon thousands of the tiny creatures must have been captured and boiled to extract the color. To match her carpet, her walls are painted a complimentary shade of purple. The idea of painting her walls is extravagant enough, but to dye it purple is even more so.

While red minerals used to make red chalk are easily accessible in mines all across the provinces, minerals naturally blue in color only come from mines in the northern regions of Cyrodiil and the southern regions of Skyrim. Then, combining the minerals and having an artisan combine them with water and oils to create the chalk paint is another waste of gold. Just her floor and walls already cost more than I'll ever see in my entire life, and that's ignoring the furniture she has filling the room to its maximum capacity. Each piece is made of matching wood: Morrowind Blackwood. While it's not imported, the wood only grows dangerously close to Red Mountain.

Finding adventurers willing to risk their life for wood is hard enough; and, they have to do it without the aid of wagon or cart. Morrowind Blackwood is the only wood able to withstand the heat put off by Red Mountain. Any cart or wagon brought to the active areas where Blackwood grows will catch alight before it can be loaded down with the cargo. Even horses and oxen tempted into the active areas by their masters refuse to let themselves be loaded with Blackwood. Scholars have spent years debating why the most subservient of beasts will suddenly go feral and rather die than have the wood saddled to their sides. The answer lies mostly in the fact Blackwood gives off a faint, comfortable heat even when dead.

It makes furniture from it comfortably warm and unique; however, a load full atop an animal's back would no doubt spark the primal fear of fire into action. Each and every piece of the Khajiit's furniture is made of it. The table she has made of it has a fine, black leather cover atop it with matching chairs likewise dressed in their leather best. Her bookshelf, desk, dresser, chest of drawers, bedside table, and the frame around her bed itself is all Blackwood to match. Her bed is blank, but the rest of the wood has fantasy scenes of unicorns and manticores and two headed beasts all dancing along the wood with the occasional dying adventurer speared on their horns or claws or beaks.

Finally, her bed is done up with the thickest, softest looking pillows ever to exist with a blanket made of what appears to be a lion's pelt. The cherries on top of her decadence are many: the books scattered atop her dresser, table, and bedside table because her shelves are filled to bursting with them; the dozens of games she has stashed under her table with dice and sticks and cards galore; her stuffed toys and imitations of animals both real and unreal piled high beside her bed and around where she lays in it; the pictures in rich watercolors hanging everywhere from her wall with thousands of strokes to show it was done by a skilled hand; and, to top it off, a cage of exotic, colorful birds in the corner with one softly cooing the Khajiit's name in an attempt to garner attention from its master.

If I had more dignity and was more committed to my principals, I'd be disgusted by how she's squandered her wealth while the workers I saw outside toiled in the fields with hardly anything to protect them from the sun. All my pride and principal die away as I see the naked woman awaiting me on her bed that cost a small fortune. Her right side is freshly cleaned and bandaged, and, it appears Robert went ahead and bathed the rest of her while he was at it. I reek and chafe from the ride here and the filth I accumulated.

That doesn't stop me from stripping as I walk towards the bed where my lover lays. I've freed myself on my armor by the time I've reached her; still, I saved my undershirt and pants for her to undo. In record time, she's stripped me of my clothes and taken me in her mouth. A sharp shudder rakes me as I twine my fingers in her mane and encourage her. It's not in her mouth she wants me to spill, though. We're still aiming for her to be pregnant by the time her lordly husband arrives for her and, sadly, babies don't come from spilling in a woman's mouth. I pull myself away to find the merchant ready to be taken.

Her heat is hot and slick when I enter her and, just as I'd feared, I don't last long and find myself finishing before I've gotten her there. I go to please her with my mouth or hands when I find her hand on my chest pushing me away. A twinge of guilt remains as my lover pulls me down into her arms and closes her legs tight. She nuzzles into my neck as she whispers why she refused me.

"I want it in me for as long as possible.". That doesn't help to ease my own guilt at having left her high and dry. Still, there is nothing to be done about it now that she's refused and I've gone soft. I try to be as best of a lover as I can by making up for my lackluster performance with some cuddling and kissing with a few sweet whispers here and there. I'm still soaking up the warmth from her when I feel her whispered words brush across my face.

"I have news from my father about my betrothed.". Instantly, all of my muscles tense and I feel my cock, which was stirring to life, go soft. I might show how much I care for her by making love to her and whispering in her ear how amazing she is, but I can't forget all of this fucking is serving another person: giving her fiancé a nice set of horns until my bastard is inside her belly. Only a child by someone who isn't her promised will convince her betrothed's father to end the wedding before it starts. If we're lucky, a bastard is already growing and she'll be nice and plump by the time she's at the altar. However, if she isn't pregnant the time is running out.

She can claim pregnancy all she wants, but that doesn't mean the end of a marriage. If she's not far enough along, then her husband can simply have me assassinated and claim the bastard as his own if it pops out as a Khajiit. If it comes out white as a Nord, then he can just have the babe tossed down a well and have a faux funeral with a closed casket. The Dunmer are a resourceful people and severing an engagement is messy work. Both sides have given so much to the other that canceling a wedding is bound to feel like a failure to both sides. For the future of my lover and my child, I do my best to swallow my own fear and rage.

"Winter is stirring around Red Mountain. Ash that falls around the charred remains of the lost villages no longer burns the flesh on contact. The deer who yet remain have fled and the birds are flying south. Fall comes and goes in a week in Morrowind and soon enough our fields will be empty. My father means to see my married before the first freeze reaches us. Even now, my husband and his father is rushing towards us with a tail of his extended family and men at arms following him. They refuse to leave their family, so their approach is slowed.". I can hear her voice change. It falls to a hush as she pulls me even closer until our noses are brushing.

"Should he not arrive here before the first freeze, then soon enough he'll be up to his arse in snow and ice. That won't stop them, but it'll make him slow enough he won't be here till I'm full to bursting with your son.". My dick twitches and I cross my legs to calm it down.

"However, he needs to be stalled long enough the first freeze can reach him. At the rate he's going, he'll be in my bed within two weeks.". I can tell this plan involves me. I've always disapproved of cloak and dagger issues in politics and mundane affairs, but I haven't a choice at this point.

My concern is my lover will want me to slay a family member to force the family to return home, or cause an uprising within the populace that her betrothed is forced to address before going any further. While I'm not against the idea of the poor and overworked getting better treatment from those who employee them, I'm opposed to the idea of putting myself in such a line of risk when I have a child (hopefully) on the way. I'd prefer rustling cattle or maybe setting a few fires to an unoccupied village. Stealing livestock and setting empty homes aflame might not be enough to cause her future husband to abandon the march towards her completely, but when a few of her scouts go missing he'd be forced to come. Though, making the scouts disappear is more than risky in and of itself.

Bribing a few to abandon their master might work considering how fickle Dunmer are to those they serve; and, I'm sure a few more would leave simply for the fact a Nord is intimidating enough they'd rather run than fight. The issue is for every two who turn tail there's one willing to return news of me to their master in hopes of a lavish reward. All things considered, I doubt any plan we could come up with would be without its own unique risk. After all, getting a nobleman to turn from his course would require either large threat or equally large promise.

"There are three houses sworn to him along the way. I need you to come to the first in disguise and demand of them a great feast in honor of their liege lord, then go to my husband and tell him of his sworn house begging for the honor of serving him. If the second and third houses fall for it, feel free to use the same ruse. If the second is smarter, then wear an ancient werewolf skin my father has and let some peasants see you killing some of their sheep. The second house will no doubt tell my betrothed of the beast and he'll feel obligated to hunt it. Let the cripple spend the night in the woods tied to his horse and chasing nothing.".

"Finally, should the third house need a different ruse than either, I've forged a letter from the last liege lord to my father offering his first son in exchange for me. All stamps and signatures I stole from other documents. My husband is a prickly man and will no doubt stop and demand satisfaction. I need you to be by his side all the while and whisper in his ear to stoke the flames of his rage. Don you disguise or not, it is up to you. Disclose yourself as my maid in waiting who's come to carry tales of my love for him if you truly feel the need. Then, once he's past the third house, break away from the group and ride to me. With any luck, he'll be trapped in the snow by the time you return to me. Can you do that for me?". I don't hesitate.

"I will.".

* * *

Reader,

I'm going to put this on both my profile and the first chapter of any work I update. A few months ago I almost took my own life. Ever since that day, I've been focusing on getting better. Writing is what I did for fun in my free time. Enjoying my life and having hobbies seemed so unimportant at first. Finally, I feel I've gotten to a place I can write and read and enjoy myself rather than going through the motions. I have no idea when I might update or the future. I don't know if I'll ever respond to messages.

Hell, I've stopped reading reviews, and that was my favorite part of writing. It might be years or more before I'm in a good enough place I feel like going back to my "normal" on this site. I might never get back to it. I just wanted anyone reading to know I do appreciate you, I'm just also struggling with depression and, while this is fun, I dread interacting with other living people. Still, thank you for reading, and thank all of you who I've come to think of as friends on this site. I truly appreciate all of you. Thank you.

Until I update again or we meet in another life,

TheKhajiitWarrior


	26. Chapter 26

The letter my beloved gave me is safely in my cloak and resting over where my heart is. An ancient werewolf pelt is thrown underneath the saddle of one of the finest horses her father has the offer. The beast is promised to my love's promised husband; however, he's the quickest steed on hand and nobody is guarding him to see me take him. I take the precaution to smear some dirt over the distinctive white markings over his face, but otherwise I let the silver stallion be. Horses aren't necessarily rare in Morrowind and, whenever they can be found, their pelts are usually silver or smoky black.

One household knight atop a discreet horse riding in the middle of the night is unlikely to draw any attention. After all, lordlings and nobles often have messages ran in the dead of night to keep prying eyes from spotting the messenger. I've "borrowed" some fitting garb from the barracks while my lover was saddling and preparing the horse she intended for me to use. Everything considered, we lucked out nobody spotted either of us as we separated and got our plan into place. Hopefully, the guard who's uniform I'm wearing doesn't mind. My green tunic is stamped with the beaver and grapes of my lover's house, and underneath it I wear a fine shirt of mail. Otherwise, only a darker green cloak and a shield with a beaver upon it have been all I've stolen.

The lordling I'm going to be distracting won't take me for anything other than a household guard sent on an errand. The story I'm using is I'm a guard from the Khajiit's house who was rushing to offer him the tribute of the family when I happened to receive word that the noble house Coluc, the house the lord is closest to overtaking, would desire the honor of feasting to his health and marriage. Should that fail, I always have the werewolf hide and forged letter. I take one more moment to make sure the letter and pelt are tied down tight in their respective places, then mount the horse. He's a fine steed and prances with a grace only allowed to the finest bred steeds.

A single guard sees me as I make my exit, but my shield catches his torchlight before my face and he waves me on by without so much as a courtesy glance at my face. The poor man is going to no doubt lose his job since he had the watch when the prize horse went missing; however, there's nothing that can be done to help that. All I can do is pray he doesn't have a family as I kick my horse into a quicker pace. The road southward is barren and abandoned as winter clutches the trees and water along the roadside. Tiny streams run beneath extremely thin layers of ice, and trees reluctantly shed their summer coats. Luckily, the foliage dying gives bandits less places to hide.

The bastards are hoping to prey upon the weak and, without bushes and trees to hide in beside the road, my horse is too much of a challenge to overtake on whatever measly mules or donkeys they have hiding with them. Even wolves and bears would struggle to take down me and my horse before we're past. Thankfully, Morrowind is so devoid of life that predators struggle to find prey and only the tiniest of predators such as feral dogs and foxes can sustain themselves even in the most plentiful areas of Morrowind. Foxes and feral dogs hold no threat to me, and bandits are nowhere in sight. All that leaves me to worry about is the gentle turns of the road along with the occasional hole in the road I need to guide my horse away from lest he break his leg.

The moon above is bright, my cloak protects me from the worst of the wind, and my stomach is filled with wine and cheese my lover gave me before I departed her room. Even my horse seems to be in a fine mood as he gallops along with nary a whinny of protest. The first sign I'm nearing the lord's march is the far, far distant cries of men and horses and dogs all mingling together to form a constant buzz at the edge of my hearing. Then, the smell of smoke on the wind tells me I'm closer. Eventually, the smoke and noise become enough my borrowed horse starts to falter in fear.

I take a few moments to calm the beast before continuing forward. The last thing I want is whoever spots me to get suspicious at the fact my steed is trying to buck me. Household knights might not ride the same horse every single time, but they're familiar enough with the animals that they don't try to kill their rider whenever they get spooked. Once the stallion is sufficiently cowed, I continue onward and see the first signs of a large party marching. A few rogue scouts, merchants, and wanderers precede the main crowd for their own personal reasons. Some are drunk or high, some are hawking wares or setting up shops to tempt everyone as they pass, and some are just anxious and wish to be away from the large crowd while simultaneously moving with their lord.

A few glance at me and that's the end of their inspection of the newcomer heading towards the heart of their march. Then, the guards and soldiers who precede their lord wherever he goes come upon me. A glance at my shield instantly causes the men to pull to the sides with one breaking off to accompany me. I nod my head in thanks as any household guard would and make my horse fall in beside his. The guard doesn't bother making idle conversation and instead gets to the heart of the matter.

"Is your mistress still alive and well?"

"Alive and well and sending her warmest regards.". The guard and I make a few more lighthearted comments before the lord I've come to distract is within sight. His father beside him is everything a good lord should be: a tall, unbent posture towering over everyone beside him; the richest garbs of his house colors of grey and black and white with fine jewels embroidered throughout it; muscle bulging beneath his finery with coarse, thick hair black as night covering him; a two-handed ax with engravings from his houses' history done up on it; and, finally, a monstrous horse as dark and large as its owner between his thighs. His son sitting in a litter beside him is nothing compared to his sire.

The man betrothed to my lover is pathetic in more ways than one: his limbs are sticks and his stomach is a swollen mass protruding from his torso; his beard and mustache are a few wisps of graying hair atop a weak chin; and he's so shrunken and small I'd almost mistake him for a child if it weren't for the likewise fine clothing he's wearing that sags off his bones. I fear for a few seconds I've mistake the father for the son and the man my love is promised to is indeed the larger, tougher looking man atop the horse. Then, the man in question dismounts and my fears are dispelled. The man gets between me and his runt of a son and addressed his guard firstly.

"You can go now. I'm sure a single guard offers no threat.". Even without my preferred sword of choice, I could split his skull and his son's before I was taken down by the dozens of guards that surround us. I refrain from telling him such. Once his guard has left, he finally deems fit to talk to me directly.

"What news do you bring?". I play the proper servant and dismount to kneel before him.

"M'lord, I bring words of admiration and love from my mistress for your son.". The son in question perks up.

"What does my beloved say?"

"She wishes you swift travel and declares her love from afar. Her only desire is to finally meet her husband.". The ego of both father and son is sufficiently stroked so I can deliver the second bit of news.

"On my journey, I stopped by House Coluc and this wished me to deliver a message on their behalf. They beg the honor of feasting you and your son before you pass them by. They promise the finest food and wine they have to offer and all merriments due a lord.". Whispers and mumbles come from both the guards surrounding us and the soldiers and citizens currently trapped behind the guards as the entire procession has come to a halt.

A few of the more important guards are motioned forward and a few minor nobles who've accompanied their lord are sent for. I don't rise from my kneel as they're all gathered and begin having a hushed discussion amongst themselves. Their discussion sways in either direction for quite some time with many changing opinions as the conversation goes on. My legs are cramping and a few stray drops of rain are beginning to hit my head when the deep, smooth voice of the lord commands me to rise. I force my wobbling knees to stay strong as I rise and hear exactly what I've wanted to hear.

"Ride ahead and tell Lady Coluc we would be honored to stop for a feast.". I mount up and turn my horse around in one continuous motion. The guards part to let me leave as I work my horse back into a full gallop. The minor Coluc house has scarce lands and scarcer riches from what my love told me before I left her. Their castle is ruins, their roads are shattered, and everything they have to their name is ancient arms and armor from wars they've lost and raids they've won.

Still, Coluc has been known to feast every lord and lady that passes her castle and is willing to stay. Mostly, she keeps them in the hopes of having her daughters and granddaughters seduce whatever lords there are, and her grandsons to work on putting a bastard in some noble lady's belly. It's a brash and obtuse tactic by noble standards, but she's gotten quite a few daughters and grandsons good marriages and, at the very least, some heavy sacks of gold to either terminate or ignore pregnancies.

I'd love nothing more than my lover's fiancee to fuck a whore and end up breaking off the arrangement, but I don't hold my hopes quite that high. I focus on riding as quickly as possible until I find the thin, dirt path leading to Castle Coluc. Sure enough, the castle is nothing more than ruins of stone heaped into giant piles with no real structure or form. Even the gate is just a ruined jumble of metal dangling from only one of its ancient holding points.

A lone guard is asleep near the gate, but I have the decency to dismount and give him a little kick. The man jolts awake and struggles to pull his dagger from its holding. Even his armor and dagger are pathetic: covered in rust, dented and twisted, and with barely any paint left to even show what the sigil of House Coluc would even be. I calm him with a showing of my shield.

"I figured you'd like to be awake when the rest of my friends came calling.". He mumbles his thanks as he puts his dagger away and struggles to his feet. I give him the reins to my horse and continue inside on foot. The hall of the castle is empty save for a single, humble wooden stool where the lady will attend her guest. Some steward or maid is asleep in the corner, though, and a kick to the ribs gets them up and fetching their mistress soon enough. Now, all I can do is wait.


End file.
